


Fortune and the Wolf

by Kate_Monster



Category: The OA (TV)
Genre: Canon Related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 104,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12989151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Monster/pseuds/Kate_Monster
Summary: In the wake of OA’s banishment from the mine, Hap exercises a contingency plan that causes the fortunes of his captives to change dramatically, while Homer struggles to protect the rest of the group and searches for his own path to freedom.





	1. The Vow

 

For the first time in years, I don’t want to survive anymore. I desperately want to cross to the other side and never return.

I want to sink into endless oblivion, but I don’t have a choice. I never get a choice. I never get what I want.

Fortune has other ideas in store for me, whether I like it or not.

I lie on my bunk for hours, curled up in a fetal position, staring ahead, vaguely aware of Rachel’s soft voice as she tries to console me, with Scott and Renata watching on and trying to help. But there’s no comfort to be found. Not for me. Not anymore. 

I stare through the glass, desperately wanting it to change, but it doesn’t. Her cell is silent. Her bed is empty. Her plants are growing limp.

She’s not coming back.

She could be dead by now - like the bodies upstairs, gone forever, though I tried so hard to revive them before he came back.

There’s nothing I could do for any of them. I’m helpless. I’m useless.

Part of me desperately wants to die, to go to the place with the tunnel and stay there. Maybe she’ll even join me there. Part of me wants to find strength like I’ve never found, unleash my rage, and find some way to attack Hap, because I don’t care what he would do anymore. And the last part of me hates myself most of all.

If I’d reacted quicker, if I’d fought back, if I’d held on to her, if I’d tried to grab for his gun, if I’d lunged for the door, could things have been different?

It’s my own fault. I had a few moments of choice - a few precious moments of hope - and I wasted them. All because I was too slow to realize what I had to do.

I sleep on and off, fitfully, for the first days. In my dreams I keep seeing her jerk away from my touch. I hear the sharp gunshot and smell the tinny mix of gunpowder and blood in the air and feel my fists beating helplessly against the door, again and again, her voice fading away into oblivion from the other side.

I see him dragging her unconscious body out of the house, shooting her in the woods, pushing her off a cliff, dropping her from a plane. The awful scenarios keep coming. I know most of them aren’t true. But my mind keeps attacking me, again and again, frantically trying to process what happened and what didn’t.

“Homer?” I hear Rachel’s voice somewhere over my head, trying to cut into my misery, digging deep to pull me out. “We’re going to do morning class now.” She’s trying to plug me into our daily routine, but I can’t. I can’t pretend like things are normal. I’m not ready to pretend like things are normal without her here.

When I close my eyes, I have an awareness of OA, like a phantom limb, a vestigial body, a presence that's a part of me until I open my eyes and lose her all over again. I can't sleep any more, my body is too tightly wound, but I still lie with my eyes closed, trying to protect my raw nerves by feeling for the remnants of her where I'm used to seeing her. 

“We need you,” Rachel says. “You know we can’t do strength training without you.”

“You can,” I murmur. It’s the first thing I’ve said in a day, maybe two or three. “You can do it without me.”

“Renata needs you to watch her form. You have to get up and do class with us. Please.”

She’s right. I manage to drag myself out of the bed and count through the strength training regimen I developed for all of us. Renata’s form seems much worse than usual and it’s only later, when I’m curled back up under my blanket, that I realize she probably did it on purpose, to give me something to do.

Later, at Rachel’s soft urging, I sit back up and choke down a few bites of food with some water. Only for Rachel, not because I want to.

I lie for hours staring listlessly at the glass wall beside my bed, until Rachel’s voice cuts back into my solitude, quietly pleading for my attention.

“Homer, sweetie?” She taps at my glass, peering at me.

I offer a murmur of acknowledgement, but I don’t move. She’s never called me “sweetie” before. Somehow, right now, I don’t mind.

“You can lie there all night if you need to. You don’t have to say anything or do anything right now. But when the lights come on tomorrow morning, you’re going to walk over here, and you’re going to tell me one thing I can do to help you. Okay?”

I don’t say anything, but I don’t object, either.

When the lights buzz me awake in the morning, it takes me a moment to remember that I have an appointment at the window. I wonder if she’ll forget.

“Homer?”

“Mmm hmm,” I murmur into my pillow.

“Remember?”

I drag myself to my feet and cross to the glass beside her. Rachel stands at the window, waiting for me with deep concern. Behind her, Renata is starting to stir awake, and Scott is getting in place for his morning piss. I stare down at the stone floor.

“So?” she asks.

I lick my lips. My mouth feels dry from the long silence. “Will you sing something to me?”

“Of course I can.” She sounds relieved to have a purpose. “What do you want me to sing?

“Dunno.” I honestly hadn’t thought that far. “Anything. Maybe something to make me feel like it’s gonna be okay.”

After a minute of thinking about it, she starts to sing Hey Jude. I sink down on the bed and close my eyes again as I lie back. But Scott cuts her off before she even finishes the first verse. I can hear him zipping his pants up as he interrupts her.

“Goddamn, girl. You’re supposed to be comforting him? Not makin’ him want to stab himself.”

“Well, then, what do you think I should sing?” she snaps. 

“I dunno! Make him feel better.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m trying to do over here.” 

My face is buried in my pillow but I have to smile as they snipe back and forth.

“It’s okay,” I say, tilting my head up so they can hear me. “I like that one. Sing something that makes me think about her. I want you to.”

“I got it,” Scott says. “I know. What’s that one song? The one with the mouse?”

“The mouse?” Rachel presses.

“Yeah! The mouse and, uh, the moon! That one.”

“Scott, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rachel says patiently.

“You know that song. Everyone knows that song.”

“Uh, yeah, maybe, but I’m never gonna get it from the way you’re describing it.”

“I used to love that song,” he goes on.

“And all you can remember about it is a mouse?”

I sit up, cutting off their argument as they turn to me in surprise. I lean my head back against OA’s cell. “Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight…” I’ve never been that great a singer, even after my journeys through the afterlife, but I can carry a tune all right. And as I start to sing, I remember the familiar tune from the VHS tape I used to watch at my babysitter’s house.

Scott snaps and points at me, then looks back at Rachel, nodding in confirmation. “The mouse song!”

“Someone’s thinking of me, and loving me tonight,” she sings softly.

I close my eyes again and let her soulful, angelic voice wrap around me, carrying the tune away from me, carrying me to somewhere else. Carrying me back to a childhood of trusting that my parents would always come back for me eventually. Carrying me back to a powerful connection that kept me fighting to survive, when everything else seemed hopeless. 

_And even though I know how very far apart we are_

_It helps to think we might be wishin’ on the same bright star_

_And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby_

_It helps to think we’re sleeping underneath the same big sky_

There’s no sky down here. No stars for us to wish on. No wind singing in the night, at least not where we can hear.

But Rachel is still here. And Scott. And Renata, too. Because of OA, we’re together and we’re united, and we know what we can become.

And she’s out there somewhere. Either she’s alive, or she’s crossed over, but I know from everything we’ve done that there has to be some way to find her, and I’ll figure it out if I try hard enough.

I’m down, but I’m not out. Not yet.

I just need time to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do without her.

After a couple more days, though I’m still shell-shocked, I force myself to teach them the fifth movement and tell them what Evelyn said before she was killed. In turn, Rachel quietly tells me what they saw. Yes, Hap took OA’s unconscious body out of the house. No, no one saw her die. He came back hours later, without her, and has been suspiciously quiet upstairs ever since.

“Rachel. I couldn’t revive them,” I whisper to her. “I tried, but-“

She shakes her head to silence me. She doesn’t need me to say anymore. I can barely look at her. Instead, I look behind her at Renata, who is still trying to perfect the connection from the fourth to the fifth movement.

“She’s not coming back.” It’s the first time I let myself say it out loud. I manage to say the words without letting my emotions burst through. “But even if she’s dead, I’m going to find her somehow.”

“She can’t be dead,” Scott offers quietly from where he’s crouched against the wall. It’s his idea of comfort, blunt as it is. “Cause, if she is, why’d he leave for so long? Where’d he go?" 

“No, she’s not dead. He couldn’t,” Renata chimes in, stopping her movement. “The rest of us, yes, he could. But not her. He could never.”

“You didn’t see the look in his eyes that day.” My voice cracks on the sentence. I sink back down on my cot and close my eyes, leaning back against the glass that divides my cell from the hauntingly empty one. “He’s dangerous. He’s changing.”

“He let her go,” Renata says. “I know it.”

“But why would he do that?” I ask, my voice a low monotone. “He’s obsessed with her. He hates me. Why free her, and keep me? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t bother him to see you suffer,” she says softly. “He just couldn't stand it for her any longer.”

My eyes stay shut. “God. I hope you’re right.”

I settle back down on the cot and try to let my mind fool me into thinking it might be okay. That she’s still here. Or that there’s a simple way to find her again.

None of it works.

My thoughts are interrupted hours later when I hear the familiar beeping from the top of the stairs and immediately sit up. He’s back. I climb to my feet and pace to the glass, glaring at Hap, so I'm as close as I can get to the stairs when he strolls down them, all business as usual.

His casual demeanor offends me. This is not business as usual.  
  
"Where is she?" I growl in a low voice.  
  
He fixes me with a stern look. He doesn't want to have this discussion. "You’re not going to see her again. That's all you need to know."  
  
I slam the side of my fist against the glass, because it's the only thing I can do. I can't touch him, but I have to direct my rage somewhere to keep from burning alive. "What did you do to her?"  
  
"I told you. We don't need her now."  
  
"You released her?" Rachel asks, her voice hopeful. He shrugs.  
  
"I don't believe you." My voice is shaking. He's too obsessed with her to let her go this easily. Something bad has happened. I'm sure of it. For the first time in years, my helplessness crashes over me as if it's all new again - the conviction that I should do something, that I need to fight back, but I can't, because he's taken everything away from me.

Now he's taken _her_ from me. The only thing he ever gave me worth having. The only thing that kept me alive.  
  
"Believe me or don't believe me. We have more important things to focus on."  
  
"Nothing else matters.” I try to keep my voice steady, but it falters.  
  
He sighs, rubbing his temple. "You see? That’s the point. You've never seen the big picture. Nothing matters _but_ this. The work. And now, we can focus on it."  
  
"Fucking bastard," Scott mutters, loud enough for him to hear, but he pretends not to and takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to change the subject.  
  
"Hey! Wait.” Hap takes a step back and studies me. “I'll cooperate," I say, words tumbling out of me with desperation. "I'll do whatever you say, whatever you want, I'll help, just please, tell me something. Anything. I have to know if she's okay. Or if she’s not." He squints. “Please.” My voice rises to a squeak. I don’t think begging will help, but I don’t know what else to do.  
  
"She's alive," he says brusquely. I release a deep breath I hadn’t realized I was still holding and sink down onto my cot.

I pray that he’s telling the truth.

He walks to OA’s empty cell and opens it, then walks himself inside. I hate seeing him in there. That’s her space. “I assume by now you all have the fifth movement,” he says, looking pointedly at me. I stare back down at my feet. I’m weaker than usual, I’ve barely had an appetite since that day, but I don’t want him to know. I’ve been hiding the extra chow in the drawer of my cot. But right now, he’s not interested in signs of life.

“We have to leave soon, one way or another.”

“Why?” Renata blurts out.

“Do I really need to explain this?” He peers over his glasses. “We’re exposed. She’s a liability, and we can’t stay here. So I suggest that you work on the movement while I finish preparations.” He looks at Scott. “You’re also probably wondering how I’m going to make you do the movements. I suggest you don’t try and find out.”

She’s gone. But I can’t lose the others. I couldn’t bear it. They’re all I have left.

As soon as the door latches at the top of the stairs, I leap to my feet and move to the center of the cage. My grief, my fatigue, my weakness – none of it matters anymore.

I have a mission again.

“Guys,” I hiss. Rachel is already there. She studies me, then gives me an encouraging nod. I meet her eyes, silently assuring her that I’m ready for this. I have to be. Renata and Scott wander up to join us. It’s almost as if we’re all in a room together, standing in a circle with a missing piece, if you ignore the unbreakable walls keeping us from each other.

“Listen,” I say in a low voice. “We’re leaving. We’ve got to leave evidence behind.”

“Isn’t that your bloodstain on the rocks?” Rachel taps my glass to illustrate.

“Yeah,” I say. “What else?” Renata is already ripping out strands of her hair and tucking them into the corners of her bed. Rachel nods at her, approving.

“We should take stuff with us, too,” Scott chimes in urgently. “Leaves and shit? All of it’ll tie us back here, if we need to prove anything.”

“Yes,” I say, pointing at him. I snap my fingers. “Rachel, your Bible.” She has years of notes scratched into her small, worn Bible, which she retrieves from the drawer under her bed. That reminds me of something else, something they don’t even know about, something that was our secret. I retrieve it from my drawer and tuck it into my pocket without a word.

“Food,” Rachel says. “Everybody take a pellet. If we can get to the authorities with it, we could prove that we didn’t make it up.”

“But listen. Whatever we do out there, we’re doin’ it together,” I say firmly, moving back to the center and commanding their attention. “All right? No one jumps ship.” I look around, making eye contact with everyone in turn. “We’ll find another way. We always do. We’re strongest together, so we stay together.”

“We’ll find another way,” Rachel repeats my words.

“We always do,” Renata agrees, dropping her last hair. She puts her hands to the glass, one hand on each side. Scott does the same, meeting her hand and putting his other one against OA’s empty cell. Rachel joins them, and finally, I do the same. We’re almost a complete circle. Our hands touch at the glass. I feel a thrill at the connection. Only one piece is missing. The one that should be between Scott and me.

“Strongest together,” Scott says with urgency, nodding toward the rest of us. “We stay together.” His decisive tone seals the deal. We’re agreed. 

If we flock together in a herd, we’ll only make it easier for Hap to control us. But I don’t care. Even if I could get away, I might never find the others again.

I don’t want to be out there alone again, and I don’t want to put the others through it, either. My heart breaks to think that’s where OA might be right now.

“Are we really going to cooperate with him?” Renata asks.

“I think we have to,” Rachel says, looking at me.

“If you mean what I just said to Hap, that doesn’t mean shit,” I say. “He gave us nothing.”

“No, she means he’s going to hurt us,” Scott says. He’s right. It’s one thing to try to sabotage the movements when he’s watching us through a camera. It’s another when he’s there doing them with us.

By the time Hap returns, we’ve obediently mastered the fifth movement. He walks back into her empty cell.

“We’re gonna do this here?” Scott asks skeptically. “What if we jump dimensions and the next one don’t have an exit out of this place?”

“This part of the mine is natural,” Hap says. “We’d have to jump pretty far to get somewhere where it doesn’t exist.”

“How sure are you about that?” Hap scowls at him in response.

I wonder, with some degree of anxiety, what we might find in the next dimension. Maybe we’ll jump into a reality where we already exist in this space, where OA never left, and suddenly there are two Homers, two Renatas, two Rachels, two Scotts, two Haps – and one of her. I wouldn’t hate that, honestly, though the thought of having to share her is a little daunting.

But I know that, most likely, we’ll go farther than that. And somehow, I don’t think we’re going to find her. Not yet.

It takes us a while to get the movements down, though we’re all trying. At various intervals, he barks commands.

Scott is tired. He isn’t getting it exactly right. At one point, Hap looks so angry I’m afraid he might hurt him. I can’t lash out at Hap, but if he goes after Scott, I don’t know what I would do. I see the fear growing in Scott’s eyes as he tries harder. Hap glances at me and says nothing.

I start to zone out after awhile. The muscle memory is burned into me, but the fatigue is overwhelming, too. I’m exhausted, and I’m terrified. I find myself blacking out for moments, coming back around to find myself still in sync with the others, moving and moving and moving. Is this it? Are we crossing? But every time, I come back, testing my memory, and nothing has changed.

Something is keeping me here. I think it’s the pain. He can take away my memories, he can take away my family, my freedom, but nothing can hurt me the way that taking her away from me hurt. She's deeply imprinted on my soul – but would I lose her forever if we jumped dimensions? That's what scares me the most. 

Hours pass. Hap starts to look tired as well. “What’s not working?” he bursts out. He finally stops moving. The rest of us take this as permission to stop, too.

“It should be working,” I say dully. “We’re doing everything right.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me or don’t believe me,” I say, echoing his words back to him. His face darkens.

“In that case,” he says, “We’re going to have to go with the backup plan. And I can’t guarantee that you’re going to like this one much better.”

He storms out of the cell and up the stairs to the main house. We look around at each other.

“What just happened?” Renata asks once Hap is out of sight.

“It didn’t work,” I say, pacing across my cell. I fold my arms and shake my head. “We didn’t go anywhere. Was everybody doing it right?”

“I thought so,” Renata says.

“Wasn’t me,” Scott adds. He looks at Rachel, who shakes her head as well.

“So does it not work?” Renata asks. “Did it never work at all? Are we all crazy?”

“We’re not crazy,” I say firmly. “It worked on Scott, it worked on Evelyn. I saw it. We all did. It works.”

“Then how do we cross?” Rachel asks.

“Evelyn told us that only someone of great determination could cross to the other side,” I say slowly, looking at the others. “Maybe we aren’t determined enough.”

“I’m pretty determined to get the hell out of here,” Scott mutters. “I’ve always thought the rest of y’all were, too. I don’t care what the next place looks like. At least we get to roll the dice again. ”

“With him, though?” I ask. “Do any of us really want to go to another dimension, with Hap along for the ride?”

But before anyone can answer that, a noise sounds above the cages. A noise we haven’t heard in a long time, clicking and hissing.

Instinctively, I drop to the floor. “Shit, _no_!”

It’s useless, of course. It always is. The gas pours into all of the cells. There’s no way to avoid it. He hasn’t used it for years, but the pipes still work. Scott and Renata carefully lower themselves on their beds, resigned, preparing to lose consciousness.

With my last moments of breath, the air turns sickeningly sweet and I feel everything start to fade.

“Strongest… together,” I manage to say weakly.

I stare across at Rachel, the last one awake with me. I know what’s happening, I know we may never be here again, and for some reason I feel strangely sad as she looks back at me, touching the glass softly.

But then her knees start to buckle, and the air goes hazy, and then there’s nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from "Somewhere Out There" by James Horner, Barry Mann, and Cynthia Weil.
> 
> Stay tuned - there's a lot more to come...


	2. Change of Venue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waking up to find himself alone in a strange new environment, Homer struggles to keep to his vow to the others while trying to figure out what Hap is planning next.

The next thing I’m aware of is that my mouth is fuzzy and dry.

I wish this wasn’t such a familiar feeling.

Usually, the next thing is regaining awareness on my cot, searching to see what OA is doing, but she’s not here. I’m not on my cot. I’m not even in the mine. I blink awake slowly, glancing around without moving. I don’t know where I am, and every instinct in my body is screaming at me about danger before I can process anything else.

I’m lying on a hard, cold floor. I sense a body beside me. I flick my eyes over and see a tattooed arm slung to my side. It’s Rachel. I glance in the other direction and can tell from the vague impression of white clothing that it’s Renata. I look back at Rachel, trying to catch her attention, but from her slow breathing I think she’s still under the effects of the drug.

I want to lick my lips, but I don’t want to clue Hap in that I’m awake. I can hear his voice nearby. It’s echoing. We’re in a large space. Somewhere new. The ceiling is far away, white, with metal rafters. I can hear rain pinging off what sounds like a tin roof. I close my eyes again. _Rain_. Clearly, we’re supposed to lie here for the time being.

“-and when we made the deal, I expected things to run smoothly.” There’s a pause. He’s talking to someone on the phone. “No. I cannot wait another two days. I have four packages and a tight timeline for transport.” Another pause. “Don’t make me explain this again on an unsecured line, Jeremy.” Four packages. That must be the four of us. As I open my eyes again and things come back into focus, I realize that we’re lying on the floor of what must be an airplane hangar.

I can see the tip of what looks like the tail of Hap’s Cessna from where I’m lying. Wait. Did he already fly us somewhere while I was unaware?

Where the _hell_ are we?

“I’m handing you the most important scientific research project of a generation and you wait until I’m more than halfway there to say there’s a delay? You said go, and I went. Do you understand the dilemma I’m in? That there’s no going back?”

He’s far enough away that I think I can risk it. “Rachel, sit up,” I whisper, but she doesn’t move. “Renata, lift your hand.” Nothing. So then it’s more than just the gas. He must have gassed us and then administered some additional kind of sedation. But from the panic in his voice, it doesn’t sound like he has much more to knock us out with.

I don’t think I like this dilemma, either.

“Then send what you can for now and we’ll make do. But I’m going to need reinforcements. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” With us? “Fine! I’ll be waiting.” That seems to be the end of the conversation.

I close my eyes again as I hear his footsteps. He pauses beside us, as if he’s checking to see if he heard something from me, but I slow my breathing, feigning sleep, and after a few moments, he paces away and I relax.

His steps don’t end. He paces. He’s afraid of something. Who could he have been talking to? I don’t like this. I don’t like what he could do if he’s scared of us. But if he were going to kill us, he would have done it already. Something else is happening, and he still wants us alive. That isn’t much of a comfort. The kinds of things that Hap needs us to live through are not usually pleasant.

I lie on the floor for what seems like hours. It’s not comfortable, and after awhile I want to fidget, but if I do, he’ll know I’m awake. Right now, I have an advantage, which is rare enough that I have to hold on to it.

Another hour passes. Maybe two. Every so often, when I’m sure that he’s on the other side of the hangar, I scoot just enough to poke Rachel or Renata, but their silence tells me they’re still under the effects of whatever he gave us. I’m alone.

Finally, I hear a knock. Hap’s feet pace across the floor and a door opens across the hangar. A moment later, I hear voices introducing themselves. Two men. Lou and Miguel.

“Did your boss explain the problem?” Hap asks impatiently. Good old Hap. He’s never been one for social niceties. And from his reaction, it’s clear that he doesn’t think these are people who are likely to try to interfere with our captivity. I keep my eyes closed, sensing the danger in the air.

“Why don’t you tell us yourself?” Miguel says, in the bored tone of someone who seems decidedly less invested in the emergency at hand.

“I have limited sedative, and we need to transport all four of these subjects to your base, which I now understand is not ready, despite what was conveyed to me. We’re more than halfway there and can’t return. Which means that in a matter of hours, if not minutes, instead of having four unconscious packages for transport, we’ll have four conscious subjects to deal with.”

There’s a brief silence and I try to remain stiff, knowing that the newcomers are no doubt looking us over.

“I assume he explained the circumstances,” Hap says brusquely. “I was told that only specialized staff would be assigned to this project.”

“It’s fine,” Lou says, sounding bored. “We’re trained for this.”

“Why don’t I give you a rundown?” Hap asks. “Then we can work on securing this building at least for now.” The footsteps grow closer and I try to slow my breathing again as they approach.

“Shit, man,” Miguel says softly, and his footsteps tell me that he’s drawing back as he notices us. Good. I’m glad someone is still startled at the sight of us and how helpless we are.

Hap coughs but continues. “Okay. That first one there is Scott. He’s wiry and quick, but I expect he’ll be complacent when he comes around. He’s not dumb. Still, keep an eye on him. Rachel there is also unlikely to give you much trouble. Homer is the one you need to keep an eye on the most. He’s an athlete. Used to play football. Do not turn your back on him and do not trust him. He’s cagey and will try to fool you. And that’s Renata. She’s strong from yoga, but I don’t know that she would turn violent. Still, I expect that you will be appropriately attentive to all of them.”

There’s a brief silence, then I hear Lou’s voice again. “That one’s awake.”

I try not to move, but I feel a foot kicking gently against my leg. “Homer, sit up,” Hap commands, and I obey out of habit, before realizing that I forgot that there was a sedative on top of the gas. “You’re right,” Hap agrees in Lou’s direction before turning back to me. I wince at my own betrayal. “Get up.”

Reluctantly, I clamber to my feet, getting a better look around the hangar. It’s empty aside from Hap’s Cessna. I also get a better look at Lou and Miguel. Lou is a heavyset man with a military-style haircut, and Miguel is a muscular Latino man with a goatee. Both of them are wearing tan jumpsuits, unmarked uniforms of some kind, and both of them are easily stronger and bigger than me, which isn’t a surprise, but it does settle the matter. There’s nothing I can do.

“What are we gonna do with him now?” Miguel asks.

“Well, he’s not coming with us,” Hap says. “Homer, over there.” He points me across the hangar. I glance down at my feet, where the others are strewn on the floor. I lick my lips. My mouth is still so dry. I rub at my rear end, which is stiff from lying so long on the concrete floor, before plodding across the giant, open space in the direction his finger is pointing.

He opens the door to a storage closet. “In there,” he commands. “Now.” I stumble into the room and the door closes on me, plunging me into darkness. I fumble for a light switch and locate it, but it doesn’t work. I realize to my horror as I flip it back and forth that there’s no bulb. Without thinking, I reach for the door and pull it back open, into the bright light of the hangar. Hap is still standing there with the others and turns around to glare at me.

“You’ll stay in there, if you know what’s good for you,” he snaps, waving his firearm in my direction.

My heart drops in my chest. I sink back into the dark room and pull the door closed on myself.

I’ve never been afraid of the dark, but I’m afraid of this dark.

I have a sudden, vivid flashback to when I went to use the bathroom in his house after I arrived. I remember the creeping sensation that something wasn’t right, that I shouldn’t have come to this man’s house, that this didn’t look like the expensive laboratory he’d described, that it didn’t look official at all.

Those were my last moments of freedom. Or maybe they were my first moments of captivity. It all blurs together.

I grope in the darkness for a medicine cabinet, but there’s nothing here. I locate a sink and turn on the water. I cup my hand below the faucet and manage to direct the stream into my mouth. It’s warm and tastes tinny, not like the fresh underground stream water I’m used to, but it’s wet. I gulp it down in slurps until the parched feeling goes away, then I rub some on my face, turn it off, and look around in the darkness.

I don’t know what’s around me – bugs, dirt, mold – but I grope my way until I find the corner of the closet and curl myself into a ball. I’m trembling as I wrap my arms tightly around my knees.

The sounds from outside fade away. They might be there, they might not. I don’t know. But I know if I open the door before he’s ready, he might shoot me on sight. He won’t kill me, but he doesn’t care if he hurts me. He knows how. It isn’t worth the threat of pain. Instead, I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall, trying to ignore the unsettling thoughts of what might be surrounding me in the darkness.

I doze in and out for what feels like hours. I’m tired, and I need the sleep, but every time I awaken, even slightly, I’m startled back by the cold cement and the silent darkness. My eyes finally adjust enough to see the dim light coming from under the door, but it’s not enough to illuminate much of anything in the silence of my dark prison.

I don’t know how long I have to stay here. I know he won’t leave me here forever. I won’t die here. He still wants something from me. I don’t know if that’s a comfort. We’re waiting for something, but I don’t know what.

It’s incredibly isolating, not being able to see. I remember how disoriented Prairie was when she first came to us, terrified and desperate and unable to see what was around her. I remember how dismissive I was of her at first, and even though it was years ago, I feel as guilty as if it happened yesterday.

I remember the chow that Rachel told us all to grab. I pull out a handful of it and slowly crunch on it. After I’ve eaten enough to take my mind off my hunger, I dig my hand into my other pocket and close it around the small strand of material tucked inside.

When her hair tie finally broke after years of holding her braid in place, she didn’t tell anyone. She didn’t even say anything to me, at first. Instead, she started collecting strands of her hair.

She worked late at night or early in the morning while the rest of us were asleep. She had to have worked for months, I think, until she had enough hair to create a little braid, two parts of hair and one part hair tie, which she wove together into a tiny, six-inch long sliver of _her_.

One night, after everyone else had gone to sleep, she tapped my glass lightly until I woke up. She pressed it to the glass to show me, and told me that she’d made it for me. Together, we figured out how to use a branch that I broke off from one of my plants to pass the little braid safely upstream, from her cell into mine. That night, I clutched it to my lips as I fell asleep.

I’ve been hiding it ever since.

It was the only real gift she was ever able to give me. Years of birthdays and Christmases passed with little comment - they barely existed in our world - but I have this one piece of her, to keep her close to me and remind me that she’s out there somewhere. _She was real,_ and she still is, somewhere. And part of her is still here with me. I can’t forget her. I won’t forget her.

I pass the time in the darkness by remembering her. Remembering what her hair looked like, her blue eyes, her teeth, the delicate flowers on her dress, the desperate scars on her back. Remembering her fingernails tapping lightly against my glass to get my attention. The sound of her voice whispering into my dreams.

I don’t want to forget any of it.

I will survive this, somehow, because that’s what she taught me how to do.

I pull the braid out of my pocket, holding it tightly so I don’t lose it in the darkness. I press it to my lips.

Finally, after a period of time – hours, days, I don’t know anymore – the door yanks open and light floods in to the room. My heart drops in my chest in a combination of relief and newfound terror, and I scramble to drop the braid back in my pocket before they notice it.

Hap is standing there and trains the gun on me.

I remember what he told the two goons about me earlier. _Do not trust him._

I remain still, waiting for his command.

“Out,” he orders.

I climb to my feet, feeling stiff and weak. I steady myself as I walk cautiously out to the main hangar. The two large men are standing with Rachel, Renata, and Scott, who have all regained some level of consciousness.

My eyes meet Scott’s, but he looks blank, as if he doesn’t recognize me. I raise my eyebrows at him slightly, asking the question. Finally, I see it – a subtle nod, just enough for me to notice, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding as I’m flooded with relief.

I’m not alone anymore.

“This way,” Miguel says, and conscious or not, none of us are going to challenge him. He leads us into a back hallway and to a meeting room of some kind. Thank god the lights are working. I immediately look for a phone. It’s been removed. Of course. He opens a door in the back. “Bathroom if you need it.”

“How long are we gonna be here?” I ask quietly.

“Long as it takes,” Hap says.

“Probably a few hours at least,” Miguel says.

“No funny business,” Hap says. “I have just enough sedative to knock you all out one more time, and I’m hoping to save it, but I’ll use it if I have to.”

The door closes. I look around at the others.

For the first time ever, four of us are together. In a single room. Alone. We share a silent, collective sigh of relief as we stare at each other.

_We’re strongest together._

_We stay together._

Without thinking, I move to Scott to embrace him.

He stiffens with surprise at first, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s going to pull away, but he relaxes, thumping an arm around me in return. I hug Rachel and then Renata tightly.

“I always said,” Scott says as he pulls back from embracing Rachel, “he couldn’t be doing this all alone. This proves it. He knew who to contact right away.”

“He was fighting with someone,” I remember. “When I woke up. The plan isn’t going well. He was upset.”

But we don’t have much more information to go on, so there’s no point speculating.

We scour the room for anything to help us. There isn’t much. No windows, just a room with a table and some cheap chairs, and a TV mounted to the wall. Rachel climbs up on a chair, and after a couple of minutes, she’s managed to tune the TV to a grainy, over-the-air network broadcast signal. There’s a soap opera on. It’s terrible and meaningless, but for a group of people who haven’t watched real television in years, it’s fascinating. We lapse into silence, all of us fixated on the screen, lulled into an easy passivity.

I seem to be the only one who is surprised a few minutes later when Rachel and Scott slip into the bathroom together and shut the door. They’re quiet, but what they’re doing in there is unmistakable. I turn and stare at Renata in disbelief as the muted noises and muffled gasps from the other side of the door become obvious.

“Did I miss something?” I ask. “Since when is that a thing?”

She shrugs. “Maybe you were a bit preoccupied.”

“Must have been.”

Then she laughs at me. “I think it started about ten minutes ago, when they realized there was no reason not to.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” But I can’t help but smile. I wouldn’t dream of doing the same thing with Renata now, given our history together, but I can hardly begrudge Scott and Rachel for taking a rare opportunity to score some mutual pleasure while they still can, before that’s taken away from us again.

When they finally emerge, a respectable amount of time later under the circumstances, both of them are glowing. I notice Rachel leaning into Scott just a little bit before they separate. 

Scott settles back next to me on the floor and I offer him a congratulatory fist bump. Rachel pretends to be outraged at this, so I reach up to offer her one, too. She meets my fist and rolls her eyes at me before settling down on the floor on Scott’s other side.

I can see them both relax a little at my joviality. Neither one of them wants to throw the situation in my face, but I care about both of them too much to be the one ruining their fun. They’re happy right now, for just a few minutes, at least, and I can’t take that away from them. It’s too rare for us. I want them to know it’s okay to show it. Seeing them happy makes me a little happy, too. I can almost forget what I’m missing.

After a few minutes, Rachel scoots between me and Scott. She folds his hand into hers and leans her head on my shoulder. I lean my head back on top of hers. She’s warm and soft and smells like the orange-scented soap dispenser from the bathroom, and her touch is relaxing. It makes me remember the early days, when it was just the three of us and August, isolated yet quietly together in our silent fear and grief. I didn’t like any of them back then. If anything, I resented them for being just as helpless and scared and pathetic as I was. It took Prairie to force us out of our isolation and begin to trust each other. I can’t say that they were happy times back then, but I still feel a pang at the memory. I’ve spent so much of my life with these people. What happens to us now?

Renata settles down with us shortly after that, leaning back against the wall on Scott’s other side, as far away from me as possible, which I’m okay with. She tucks her arm around his shoulders, like a protective older sister.

The four of us are silent in our tableau as we watch an afternoon news show, absorbing the information while appreciating the comforting huddle and the presence of other people. It’s been so long since any of us had that. At one point, Rachel starts to softly snore into my shoulder. I think I don’t want to ever move again.

The door opens, startling us all. Scott snatches his hand back from Rachel’s and I lift my head up. Hap is standing there with the two goons, who have been joined by a third one now, a silent, mean-looking one.

“Looks like we’re ready to go earlier than we thought,” Hap says. I scramble to my feet and back away, sizing up the men he’s brought. All of them look strong enough to take me solo. That’s probably the idea. “I’m going to trust that you’re each smart enough not to do anything that would put the others at risk.” I try not to react, but it’s almost as if he knows about the vow we made. It wouldn’t be the first time he knows more than I gave him credit for. “We’re gonna go one at a time with the escorts. Rachel, you first.”

My heart breaks for Scott as the first man marches Rachel out the door. I know it’s not the same situation, but I can’t help but remember what it felt like, having to stand there helplessly watching the woman I love be torn away from me.

Scott and Rachel aren’t in love, not right now, not the way that OA and I were, but I can sense that their feelings for each other have been changed by the last couple of hours. I know that he isn’t the totally emotionless rat bastard he always wanted us to believe that he was.

Hap points his finger at Scott next, after a couple of minutes have passed, and he’s escorted out of the room. He doesn’t give any sign of struggle, just hangs his head down and follows obediently. He has too much of a survivor’s instinct to even think about causing trouble right now, and he knows that he’ll be seeing Rachel again soon. Not to mention our vow, though of course Hap doesn’t know about that. They won’t have any problem with him.

Hap takes Renata next himself, leaving me alone with the newest man, the biggest and the strongest. I’m sure that was deliberate. I’ve never tried to fight back against Hap, not since that terrible first day, but he knows I could. He’s always sniffed the animal side of me, the seething anger lurking beneath my stony surface that could erupt at any time, and he knows that I’m even more on edge than usual.

I take my cue from Scott, though. We don’t know where we are, we don’t know what’s happening, and there’s nothing to be gained by causing a disruption now. I can’t fight unless I know where the others are. I need them. It’s more than just a vow. I don’t have a choice.

Like Scott, I simply hang my head and follow along.


	3. Another Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The captives arrive at a new destination and cautiously test their new environment, but the reasons behind the change remain unclear. Meanwhile, Homer's curiosity wins out and he tries to meddle, but Rachel and Scott aren't having it, and a mouse has an unexpected run of good fortune.

The goon walks closely beside me through the silent wing of offices, far enough to not attract unnecessary attention, but close enough that he could grab me in a moment if he had to. He touches my shoulder lightly to guide toward a side exit. We don’t pass any people. I don’t know what I would even do if we did. He leads me out the fire exit and ushers me toward a waiting van on the tarmac with dark windows. I join the others in a line.

“Hands out,” the big one says. I realize with dismay that he’s holding a fistful of zip ties.

“Is this necessary?” Renata asks. “We aren’t resisting.”

“You heard what Betts said,” Lou growls.

“Out,” Betts says again, reaching to grab her wrist roughly. I hear her gasp as he clicks a tie onto her arms before moving over to me. Reluctantly, I offer up my hands and am quickly bound, as are Scott and Rachel. As if this insult isn’t enough, Miguel produces a black piece of material – a hood – that’s drawn over my head. I hear Scott grunt and I assume the same thing is happening to the others.

I’m guided into the van next to Renata. I can tell it’s her from the sound of her heavy breathing. There are no seatbelts, so once the door slams shut and the van lurches off, the momentum sends me sliding into her. “Sorry,” I grunt a whisper at her. She shrugs me off.

“You gonna tell us where we’re goin’?” Scott grumbles from behind us. There’s no response from the driver in front, or the goons beside him. I don’t know where Hap went, but I don’t mind the fact that he’s not here. It’s nice to have different adversaries for a change. I settle into my seat and close my eyes in the darkness.

I don’t like being blind. I know OA lived like this for years, and I try to remember everything she ever told me about it. How her other senses were fine-tuned to compensate, how she learned to listen and feel in place of her eyes. I try to listen, but all I can hear is the traffic around us and the sign of the van’s engine. I try to smell, but it’s a mixture of body odor and motor oil.

Am I giving up too easily? We’re together, and we’re conscious. That’s all I need. How hard would it be to try to blindly force a wreck and pray we could make a run for it? I don’t know what I would do, or how I would keep the four of us together, but at least running through the options keeps me from falling into total despair.

But the risk is too great. We’re too vulnerable. I won’t risk anyone’s life. That would break our vow. First, we survive. Together. I have to find a better opportunity.

This could be a long trip. It might not be. My stomach is tied up in knots, with the now unfamiliar feeling of sailing in a car without a sightline to orient me. If I throw up in the hood, it would cause a disturbance, but to what end? A small moan escapes my lips as we lurch down the road.

“You okay?” Renata whispers from beside me.

I start to shake my head, but then I remember she’s as blind as I am now. “No,” I grunt. “Sick.”

“This man is ill,” she announces. “He is going to throw up in this car.”

“He better not,” Betts says. “If he knows what’s good for him.”

I swallow, partly at the threat and partly to try and reduce the urge to vomit. I feel Renata’s bound hands rubbing my arm. “Thanks,” I whisper to her. I try not to think about how good the contact feels and focus on letting it calm my stomach. It works. “I’m good.”

Renata withdraws her hands. “How much is he paying you?” she demands crisply. “Did he tell you what he is doing? That he kidnapped all of us? That he experiments on us? That he kills us?” There’s stony silence from the front. “How much does he pay you to ignore us and look the other way?”

Enough, apparently, judging from their lack of response. “There’s probably a reward,” Rachel adds. “For more than one of us. We have families.” Still silence. “You could be heroes. You could-“

“Stuff it,” Lou snaps, “or I’ll come back there and shut all of you up, for a long time.”

I slump back in my seat. It was worth a try. I’m glad that the girls aren’t giving up at least.

I feel something warm on my hand. It’s Renata again. Her thumb massages my hand gently, reminding me even in the dark silence that I’m not alone.

I can’t help the tear that slides down my cheek. I feel relieved that at least I’m hidden so that no one can see it.

After an hour or so, the van slows, as if we’re taking an exit. The noises of other cars drift away until I can only hear the sounds of our own van, winding on a long road for a while. Then the sounds around us change again, and suddenly the noises around us echo. I think we’re in another hangar, or maybe a loading dock. The van stops and the doors open, and I feel someone yanking me out. My feet scrabble for support as I tumble out of the car, unable to see where I’m falling. I stagger back to my feet and one of them rips my hood off. I shake my hair out defiantly and look around, trying to quickly absorb our surroundings. It’s definitely a loading dock of some kind. We’re lined up again and Hap is climbing out of a sedan that must have been following us the whole time.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Hap asks us crisply. He’s met with silence. I don’t know what he expected. “Reilly, which way?” he asks the fourth man, the only one whose name I hadn’t caught.

I cast a last, desperate glance back at the loading bay doors, but they’re solidly shut. There won’t be any escape, not here, not today, not for us.

We’re led down a long corridor, into an elevator that cranks us somewhere underground. I should have known we wouldn’t stay above ground for long. We don’t belong up there. We belong deep in the earth, buried where no one will ever find us.

Down another corridor. Hap opens the door to what looks like a jail cell. He points at Renata and Rachel, and after a moment of all of us staring at each other, they both step inside and Miguel cuts their zipties off. I see Rachel step back, rubbing her wrists. Hap closes and locks the door.

Scott and I are led down the hall and I watch as he’s ushered into a similar room. I wonder if we’ll ever be allowed outside of it again. I swallow, hard, but my hesitation is too long for them, and I feel a rough hand pushing me into the room with him. I stumble to the floor. For a moment, I’m scared they’ll forget about my hands, but Betts is behind me when I stagger back to my feet and turn around. He reaches forward to slice the sharp plastic from my wrists before backing up and slamming the door in my face.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” Hap says. “All right?”

Scott waits a minute until Hap and the goons are gone, then he slides over to me. “He was talkin’ to you, you know,” he mutters under his breath.

“Thanks. Got that.” I rub at my wrists. I can still feel the pain from where the plastic cut into me.

“So. You plannin’ to do somethin’ stupid?”

I roll my head over to fix him with a stare. “When have I ever done anything stupid?” He wrinkles his nose at me. “Fine. Don’t answer that.”

“Listen,” Scott says with an urgency I’ve rarely seen from him. “I don’t want them to hurt you.”

“Maybe I want them to.”

“That’s what scares me.” He looks at me intensely. “That vow we made means you better be watchin’ out for yourself, too.”

“What is this?” I ask in disbelief. “You’re being nice to me? Did we cross to another dimension when I wasn’t looking?”

“Yeah, fuck you.”

I never had a relationship with anyone like the one I have with Scott. It took me a long time to understand it. OA explained it to me after he and I had an angry shouting match one afternoon. I crawled under my bed to try and fume in privacy, but she wouldn’t let me and crawled under her own bed to join me.

As she gently stroked my glass, trying to calm me, she whispered that Scott and I were exactly the same. Both of us hated Hap deeply, she said, but neither of us felt like we could safely express anything against him. As a result, we would take it out on each other, channeling our aggression back and forth, each of us throwing anger at the only man we could. The more I thought about it, she was right - as usual. I didn’t actually hate Scott. And I wasn't the one he hated. But we still would go back and forth at each other, for days at a time, even as I knew deep down how much I cared about him. 

Right now, it’s easy to focus on the last part.

“Promise me you’re gonna try to survive this.”

“I will,” I say. I hesitate. “And stop being nice to me. Okay? Make it feel like old times.”

“You got it, asshole.”

“Fuck off, Scott.” But I’m smiling even as I shake my head at the ground. “I’m glad they didn’t split us up this time. It makes everything a little less scary, y’know?”

“You? Scared?”

I shake my head. “Scared Shitless, a Memoir,” I say. “By Homer Roberts.”

Scott grins at the familiar shorthand. We’ve been brainstorming our autobiography titles for years now. The girls all got over the joke years ago, but for some reason, he and I never stopped finding it funny. “Forward by Scott Brown,” he adds.

“Word.”

We fall into silence. I move over to explore my own bunk. There’s a thin pillow and a rough blanket. It’ll do. I also see an exposed steel toilet and sink in the corner. It’s different from what we’re used to – it feels like we’re in a real jail. But at least I’m not alone.

“Hey,” I whisper to him after awhile. “You do know what you’re doing, right? You know, with…” I shrug and glance over my shoulder in Rachel’s direction.

Scott gives me an icy look from his bunk. “We been together how many years now? And I asked you for relationship advice how many times?”

“ _Is_ that a relationship now? Also, I thought she only liked girls.”

“Wrong, she’s bi, and I said fuck _off_ , Homer." 

I hold my hands up in surrender. “I just don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

“Look. We got a chance, we took it. Probably we’ll never get it again. I guess it was nice while it lasted, but it’s not a thing,” Scott says, his voice low and intense. “It can’t be a thing. Maybe you’re dumb enough to think you could have a thing in here, but not me, and not her. Okay? That what you wanna hear?”

“Fine. Forget I asked.” I lean my head back against the wall.

“You act like it’s the first time I got laid.”

I shake my head. “I know it’s not.”

“So don’t act all high and mighty.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” I grumble. I close my eyes and see her face in front of me. It’s still burned on the inside of my eyelids. I spent so many years staring at her face that it follows me everywhere still, haunting me, reminding me. That’s what I’m afraid of. I can manage my grief and my pain, no matter how bad it gets. I don’t know if Scott can. He spent years pushing all of us away because he had to, because he didn’t have room for any more pain.

I open my eyes and immediately spot something flashing at me from between his fingers. “Hey. What’s that?”

“What?”

“Isn’t that Rachel’s button?" 

“No.” But it is. Her bottom coat button fell off probably more than a year ago. She must have been carrying it in her pocket all this time, and now he has it. And he’s clutching it in his fingers for dear life, until he notices I’m not looking away, then he slips it into his shirt pocket. “Thought I told you to fuck off.”

My own hand slips into my pocket, digging past rocks and food pellet crumbs and crumbling leaves before I find the braid. It’s still there. I fold my hand around it. I consider saying something to him about it, but that seems too forward.

I close my eyes again, focusing everything on my little piece of her, and at some point I must drift off to sleep, because I’m startled awake by the sound of footsteps and a plate of food being pushed through the slot in the gate. I stand and rush to inspect it as the goon slides a second plate through.

“It don’t look half bad,” Scott says, grabbing the second tray and poking at the industrial-looking rubbery burger.

“D’you think it’s drugged?” I ask him, lifting the bun off my tray and sniffing it.

“Honestly,” he says, “Right now, I don’t care.” He tears into the burger and I follow him a moment later. It’s certainly not high quality meat, but it’s edible. “This place is starting to look up,” Scott says, reaching for the cup of mixed fruit on his plate. I have to grin at him through my mouthful of food.

“We have low standards,” I agree.

“Didn’t anybody ever teach you not to chew with your mouth open?”

I put the fruit cup and the dinner roll aside for later, just in case there isn’t another meal anytime soon. But it’s more than we’ve had in a long time.

“Does this remind you of school lunches?” I ask as I lick the last of the meal from my fingers. “Like in elementary school.”

“You bought school lunch? I woulda pictured you for a brown bag guy.”

“Hell no,” I say. “My folks worked. And I know I told you my mom couldn’t cook worth a shit. I got a buck every morning and I had to make do.”

“Did you ever have that baked stuff they called pizza?”

“With like cubed pepperoni? Oh yeah. That was the shit.”

“Ours was round. Man, I would murder someone for that right now.”

“I just want Pizza Hut,” I say. “That’s where we used to go after all my games. They had this old video game machine in the corner and my dad would give me a quarter for every-”

The door opens at the end of the hall and we fall silent again. Hap appears at the door after a moment and I stare at the floor.

He glances around the cell and notices the food I’ve tucked aside. “You’ll have a steady supply of meals here,” he says. “There’s no need to hoard.” I look away and refuse to respond. I’ll hoard if I want to. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him tell me when to eat or not eat. I know better than to trust a word he says.

He unlocks the door. “Homer. Come.”

Like a fucking dog. Again, I have no choice. I could resist, but he would win. Better to get it over with. I step outside. He has a goon with him. The big one. What’s his name? Betts. I fold my arms, trying to be as small and unassuming as I can. I really don’t want to be ziptied again. My wrists are still stinging from the plastic earlier. By tucking my hands under my armpits, hopefully they’ll see that they have nothing to worry about from me. No, sir.

Hap walks down the hall and draws Rachel out of her cell, then leads us back out. I glance back at Renata, who is watching us with concern, and our eyes meet. I swallow, hard, but follow Rachel and Hap back to the elevator.

Hap and Betts lead us into some sort of empty lab room. Hap tells us to wait. We stand there awkwardly. There’s a chair in the middle of the room, but neither of us feels like sitting. I don’t think the chair is for us, anyway.

“Everything good?” I ask Rachel.

“So far,” she says. “Food’s okay.”

“No kidding. How ‘bout Scott?” I press.

“Huh? What about him?”

“I just want to be sure you know what you’re doing. That’s all.”

Rachel narrows her eyes at me. “What d’you mean by that?”

“You gave him your button.”

“Homer, mind your own business,” she sighs.

“How is-“ I start to say, but the door opens. We fall silent as Hap walks back in, holding a box in his hands.

“Are we all doing okay?” he asks. We stare at him. He coughs. “Well. Our new partners want to see the movements in action. Just the two of you this time.”

Partners. I wonder who they are. “Who are we supposed to be healing?” I ask dully.

He opens the box. I peer inside at the contents. It’s the carcass of a dead mouse.

I look back up. “Seriously?”

“There’s nothing funny about any of this. There’s a lot at stake here. For you too.” He sets the box on the chair between us, fixes us with a pointed look, and backs out of the room.

“Are we really doing this?” Rachel asks me.

“Might as well,” I say. I glance deliberately at the camera on the wall and then look back at her.

“Okay, Mickey,” Rachel says with a sigh. “Get ready for the ride of your life.”

I grin at her as we position ourselves over the box. She’s right. Hap’s wrong. This _is_ strangely funny. Resurrect a dead mouse? Sure. Why not? Just another day in our lives. A day with toilets and fruit cups. It could be worse. It’s been a lot worse. And I know we can do this, easily.

“First two movements are all we need,” I remind her.

“I know how this works,” she says, irritated.

“Sorry.” I’m used to doing this with someone else. We start moving, and I watch the tiny rodent corpse out of the corner of my eye. But it doesn’t feel right. Not with Rachel. We aren’t in perfect sync. We don’t have the same connection. We’ve practiced it together many times, but she’s not OA.

After a few minutes, the door opens.

“It’s not working,” Hap says.

“You didn’t give us much time,” I say, turning to him.

“You’ll have plenty of time,” he says, “but we need results sooner than that.”

“Look,” I say boldly. “Maybe this is no use without Prairie. She was always the one who understood this, better than the rest of us. You wanna tell those guys it’s your fault because you sent her away?”

“Should I?” he retorts, crossing his arms. “We can easily get her back here. Is that what you want? Do you want to be responsible for her losing her freedom again, or do you want to figure this out on your own?”

His words send a wave of blinding hot rage cascading through me. “You leave her the fuck alone.”

“You get the fucking movement down, then.” He steps out and the door closes.

“Hey.” Rachel steps toward me. “You gotta calm down.”

She’s right. She’s too nervous, and I’m too angry. Neither one of us is in the right state of mind. “C’mere,” I whisper, holding out my hands. She steps forward and takes them. We stand there for a few seconds, our eyes closed, holding each other. Rachel’s energy is calm and caring. I try to shed some of my agitation through her, to allow her to feel my urgency while draining myself of irritation. I squeeze her hands.

“Ready?” she asks me. My eyes pop open. Hers meet me back, soft and encouraging. She’s not OA, but she’s still a part of me. We still have a connection. We can do this.

We resume our positions and start doing what we know how to do. Hap was right. This is what we do. This is what we were always meant to do. Maybe not like this, as captives. But maybe we have to be here, to get wherever we’re going.

It’s hard to erase the feel of OA from my core. She should be here. She belongs with me. I can feel her presence guiding me. I don’t know where she is right now, but I know she’s looking for me. She’s scared, she’s afraid I might not be real, but I am real, I know I am, I’m right here, and we’ll find each other again, I know we will, even if it feels impossible-

A loud sound startles me, almost like the sharp bark of a dog, though there’s no dog here. I’m jerked out of the trance I’d entered, and I stop. Rachel stops, too. We exchange a look.

I glance down at the box and the mouse scurries to the corner, overwhelmed by the experience of returning to life. One more miracle brought to you by Pinocchio the puppet. Stick your hand up my back and watch me dance.

The door opens and Hap enters again. 

“Homer, Rachel, thank you, that’ll be all for now.” He motions to the goon who points to the side door, and I follow Rachel down the hall and back to our cells.

Back in the cell, I head immediately for the fruit cup and the roll. The activity has given me an appetite. I’ll hoard later. Scott is at my side as soon as the goons disappear. I nod reassuringly at him.

“I saw Rachel. She’s fine,” I whisper. “So’s the dead mouse they made us revive.”

“No kiddin’?”

“Nope. You’re no longer the only zombie around here.” He chuckles at that and claps my back, satisfied, before settling back on his bunk, his eyes closed.

I take a bite of the roll, my teeth sinking into the deliciously soft carbohydrates, and swallow it after a couple of chews. I feel drunk with pleasure.

I take a long, leisurely piss into the toilet bowl, savoring the possibility of staying here for a while, with real plumbing and fruit cups and dinner rolls. Then I curl up on the hard shelf of a bed, tugging the thin blanket around me, and close my eyes.

She’s not close, not anymore, but I _know_ what I felt today. As I drift off to sleep, I can almost sense her presence beside me, as if she’s back just on the other side of a thin piece of glass, watching over me and protecting me as I fall into a deep, restful sleep.

I wake up to darkness.

It’s the middle of the night, and it takes me a moment to remember I’m in this strange new place, but I hear a sound. The sound that must have woken me up, even though it’s quiet.

I know almost immediately what it is.

I’ve heard it many times over the years. Always in the darkness, always when we’re supposed to be sleeping, always just barely audible above the deep, overwhelming silence of the night. A shudder, and then a sniff - just enough to give away that Scott is crying across the room on his bunk.

I don’t know why. He has plenty of reasons. Maybe it’s about Rachel, maybe it’s about OA, maybe it’s about the trauma of such a major change in our fortunes, maybe it’s about life and everything we’re facing. Maybe it’s all of it. It doesn’t matter why, but he’s processing his pain, alone in the darkness of our cell.

Except that one thing has changed. We’re not separated anymore.

Softly, I sit up and swing my feet to the floor. The sniffing sound stops as he realizes I’m awake.

I pad across the cell in the darkness, illuminated by the dim fluorescent light from the hallway. I settle down beside his bunk, on the floor, then reach up for where I know his hand is. I have to grope around for a moment before I find it, and then close mine around it.

His hand is thin, cold and soft, weak to my touch. But he doesn’t let go or push me away. Instead, he grips me back, granting me permission, acknowledging my gesture.

We sit there together in the silent darkness, our hands clasped. Something we could never do in the mine. Something I think both of us had almost forgotten how to do.

“You’re not alone,” I whisper to him. “Don’t forget that. Never forget that.”

In response, he shudders one last time and squeezes my hand again in the dark.

“What if this is it now?” he whispers back, hesitant. “What if we’re here for good?”

“Then at least you and me got each other,” I say firmly. “Remember? Strongest together.”

“So we stay together,” he repeats. “We’ll find another way.”

I settle my head against the edge of his bed and listen as he falls into silence and then, within a few minutes, starts to gently snore. Still, I keep his hand tucked firmly in mine.

I don’t want to let go, because I don’t want him to fall into the abyss alone, any more than I want to fall into it myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a little early this week due to the holiday. Enjoy!


	4. The Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Homer starts to grow comfortable with his new circumstances, he's suddenly faced with a new adversary, who presents him with an offer he's not able to refuse.

The breakfast trays startle me awake in the morning as they slam one after the other through the slot in the door.

I wonder how long I slept. I know I sat up with Scott for a while, but eventually I must have fallen asleep on the cold concrete floor beside his bunk. There’s no indication of time here. At least when we were down in the mine, we could see outside on the monitor, and between that and the lights dimming, we sort of knew the difference between night and day.

Scott and I each have a small box of Cheerios, a carton of milk, a tin of warm coffee with some sugar packets, and a gritty, over-ripe apple. I feel refreshed, especially as I settle back on my bed, cross-legged, and sip the coffee from the metal cup. It’s watery, even after I dump in some of the milk, but it’s coffee. I don’t have to ask my cellmate to know that he’s happy right now. I slide the sugar packets in my pocket for later, just in case.

“Ladies, you up?” Scott’s voice rings out, echoing down the hall. The girls answer from a distance, and I offer them a shout of acknowledgement as well. What would our lives have been like if we’d been locked up like this from the beginning? It took us long enough to open up and connect when we were all trapped in the same space, staring at each other. Here, it would have been even harder. But we spent so much time together in those close quarters that all it takes now is one shout down the hall and we’re unified once again.

Then again, Prairie couldn’t see any of us at first, and she connected us better than anyone.

Scott’s voice breaks into my speculation. “Think we could get ‘em to give us better food? Do we got anything they want?”

“Nothing they can’t make us give them.” I shake my arms out and raise my voice. “Hey! Who’s ready for morning class?”

“Renata’s still eating,” Rachel calls from down the hall.

“’Kay. Let us know when she’s ready.”

“I don’t wanna do class today,” Scott says in almost a whine, settling back on his own bunk.

“Fine,” I say. “Nobody’s forcing you.”

“Why’re you starting so early?”

“Why not? We don’t know what’s gonna happen here today. Might as well see what we can get in, while it’s still quiet.” I’m already pacing the cell, shaking my limbs out and stretching, to prepare for the morning routine.

Renata is ready a minute later, and though I can’t see the girls, I call out into the hall, counting out our workout, adding in some reminders to Renata to maintain her form even though I can’t see her. We start with a formal series of stretches and then move through sit-ups, push-ups, planks, squats, crunches, jumping jacks, lunges, and then back to stretches. I’m counting out a second round of squats when I hear the door at the end of the hall clang open. I stop mid-push-up and slowly lower myself to the floor, waiting for what’s coming next.

Hap is with a heavyset man in an expensive suit. He has a white beard and glasses. He’s clearly not here to help us, so I immediately don’t like him.

Hap stops in front of our cell. “It was this one,” he says.

He unlocks the door and leads Scott out as I struggle to sit up. I shrink back against the wall, hoping they’ll forget I’m here.

The man looks Scott up and down, with a chilly disconnect that makes me feel ill to my stomach. “He looks pretty alive to me,” the man says. It’s almost like he’s trying to be friendly, but it doesn’t quite land. Scott doesn’t look back at me as they lead him away. His face is blank, and I know he’s retreated into that dark place, deep down inside, that all of us go to hide when Hap comes for us.

I try to swallow to quell my sick feeling. I feel like I did in the car yesterday, blind and queasy with no idea where we’re going. I try to tell myself he’ll be okay. They’ll bring him back. Whatever they’re going to do to him here can’t be that bad. They have Cheerios and toilets. Right. 

I wait a minute or two before resuming morning class with the girls. I don’t feel like it anymore either, but there’s nothing else to do but sit and rot, and it’s not like Scott was participating anyway. Maybe I could try for a new push-up record if he doesn’t come back for awhile.

We do two extra sets to pass the time, followed by Renata leading us through an intense yoga session, which makes for a pretty exhausting morning, and at the end, we call out thank yous to each other before falling back into silence. Normally we would rehearse the movements next, but with Scott gone, there’s not much point. I settle back on my bunk to finish breakfast.

The sudden solitude is strange. For years I had OA beside me nearly all of the time, and even since Hap took her from me, I’ve had the others. But now, with Renata and Rachel out of sight, and Scott missing, I feel lonely - for the first time in a long time.

I know I should take advantage of the rare privacy. I should probably curl up under the blanket and jerk myself off, or something, but I just don’t feel like it. Instead, I polish off the apple and milk, saving the Cheerios, and settle myself by the door at the front of the cell, trying to see how far down the hallway I can peer. I can’t see to the girls’ cell. Almost. But not quite.

My stomach grumbles at the unfamiliar arrival of dairy. It’s still adjusting to the feel of real food. I touch a hand to it and smile weakly. I’ve never been so happy to have indigestion. At least I have a real toilet again to take care of it. I feel a little bit like a human again. Almost.

But not quite.

Settling back on the bed, I dump the Cheerios out on my tray and absently shape them into the dots of my Braille name – HOMER. Then I wipe aside the R.

HOME. I stare at the word, at the strange letters she taught me in those long, endless hours we spent together in the mine. 

If this was home for awhile, maybe I could get used to it. Something _is_ different here. Someone else is calling the shots. Maybe the man in the expensive suit. We aren’t fully under Hap’s control anymore. There are others. He’s deferring to someone. Someone who has slightly more humanity than him. Someone who insists we should at least be fed human food and given toilets. 

I hear the creak of a door opening at the end of the hall, and I stiffen, straining to see who’s coming. I brush the Cheerios aside so that my Braille isn’t recognizable, and push the tray away.

Scott is back. I study his face as he enters, along with Betts the big goon and the suit from earlier, looking for any clue to where he’s been or what they’ve done to him, but the real Scott is still locked inside. I spot a fresh bandage on the crook of his arm. They must have done a blood draw. He walks back into the cell obediently, without objection, like a robot. I don’t think he got the gas, I think he’s just scared, but it’s hard to tell for sure.

I want them to leave so I can ask him what happened, but I don’t get the chance. They come straight toward me. I bounce quickly to my feet. I really don’t want any of them to touch me. 

“Mr. Roberts?” the man asks.

I glance over at Scott, who is looking back at me, but his face is still blank. Some help he is.

“Come with us?”

Since Scott isn’t disabled or screaming, and Betts is probably twice my size, and I’ve survived far worse than blood draws, I decide that cooperation is still a worthy strategy and follow them into the hall. I wish desperately that they’ll bring Rachel, like yesterday, but it doesn’t happen.

It’s my turn to face them alone.

We walk in the opposite direction from the girls, into the stairwell and up two levels. I think we’re above ground again. I manage to catch a glimpse of a window through an open door and I see blue sky. It takes my breath away.

I’m led into a small windowless conference room. “Have a seat, Mr. Roberts,” the suit offers. I glance hesitantly at the counter in the corner of the room. A small catering setup has been laid out – a tray of breadsticks, pasta, salad, cookies, and a bottle of wine. On the counter, in a small cage, is the mouse that Rachel and I revived. He scampers around in his confinement.

What is this?

“Go ahead,” the suit says. “We ordered the food for you. Help yourself.”

I look back at him warily as Betts closes the door, leaving us alone.

“Why?” I manage to croak out.

“I thought you’d want to eat before we talk? No? Well, then we can start with introductions.” His tone is measured, almost even friendly. “My name is Jeremy. Jeremy Stevenson. We’re here today to discuss your options.”

“Options?” I say in disbelief, and I can’t help but spit the word out. “What options? You people brought me here in handcuffs yesterday.”

“Things change, son. Why don’t you help yourself to some lunch, and then we’ll get started?”

I don’t trust him, even less so after he tried to disarm me by calling me “son”, but the food so far has been okay, and as Scott said yesterday, we don’t have much to lose even if it’s not. I take one of the plates and cautiously take a breadstick, some salad, and a scoop of penne. My hands tremble as I serve myself, even though we’ve been doing hand exercises for the past year to try and stay strong, I’m still not used to holding utensils. But I don’t want him to see that.

“That’s all?” he asks.

“Give the rest to the others,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

“There will be more,” Jeremy Stevenson says, following behind me and loading up his own plate. He doesn’t skimp on the pasta. We settle down at the table and I push my glass of wine away. I don’t want to touch it until I know more about where this discussion is going.

“How’s he doing?” I ask, nodding my head at the mouse cage. The mouse pauses and stares back at us, his nose twitching with confusion as he absorbs our attention.

“Pretty well, all things considered,” he says. “He was dead for three hours.”

“Huh,” I say. “My friend was dead for longer than that.”

“Is that so,” he says. “How long?”

I shrug. “Dunno. Ask Hap. My watch battery’s been dead for years.”

He smiles, but it’s thin. “I want to apologize for the rough treatment when you were coming in. We were told there might be a risk of resistance from your group, and we couldn’t tolerate that, especially during a critical transition like this. I hope you understand.”

All I can do is stare at him silently as I nibble at the breadstick. I’m not accepting any apologies anytime soon from anyone, especially not anyone working with Hap.

“I’ve started reviewing Dr. Percy’s records.” It takes me a moment to remember that he’s talking about Hap. “I see that some of his methods have been… unorthodox. But then, the results you’ve given him were not what he expected. It seems like he had difficulty adapting to the reality of that. If we’re going to be partnering with him now, we need to work with the reality. And that means partnering with you as well.”

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Jeremy says. “Of course. Let me back up.” He takes a sip of his wine. “I’m aware that your treatment over the past few years has been… substandard. But you’ve become a valuable research subject, Mr. Roberts. Your friends, too. You’re no longer as disposable as Dr. Percy first thought.”

_Disposable._ I think there’s a compliment buried in there somewhere, but I just stare at him over my first delicate bite of lunch. I’m quickly losing my appetite.

“That means we have to talk about your role here.” 

“Just me?” I ask through the pasta. 

“All four of you, of course,” he says. “Do you know why I wanted to talk to you first, though?”

I’m not sure there’s a correct answer to this, so I just shrug.

“I’ve been watching you. Reading up on you. You never stopped being the quarterback. You’re a quiet leader, but a powerful one. If you and I aren’t on the same page, I won’t stand a chance with your friends.”

I swallow a mouthful of pasta and study him with suspicion. “What do you need us on the same page for? We’re still prisoners here.”

“For now,” Jeremy shrugs. “That’s what I want to discuss. I think it’s time for things to change. I want to propose a deal.” I regard him silently, waiting for the next move, but my heart is racing. “A bargain. We want your cooperation.” I squint at him. “We really do. Fully and freely. I’d like for the four of you to partner with us in this work. In exchange, you will have your freedom – to an extent.”

My mind is spinning, trying to process this. Freedom? It’s a concept I can barely even fathom anymore, especially in any context where Hap is still involved. “An extent?” I echo. “What extent?”

“First. I need you to understand something. I don’t condone the way you’ve been treated by Dr. Percy. None of us here do. We’re willing to change things, starting now, if you’re willing. We would rather you be partners, not prisoners.” 

“Partners?” He keeps saying that word, but I don’t understand. “With who?”

“With my agency,” Jeremy says. “We want what you want. To understand what you call the movements. To understand how they work. To investigate what the four of you are able to do.” He leans forward. “But we want to do it with your consent. We aren’t monsters.”

“What about Hap, then?” I reach for the wine, finally feeling ready to take a sip. His words are filling me with a strange mixture of relief and apprehension. I need to talk to the others. But I also need to understand what he’s saying. “What would his role be?”

“As minimal as possible,” Jeremy says. “We understand you have a contentious relationship, and that he upsets you. We don’t want that. Still, he does possess valuable information, and he’s gotten the work this far.”

“So you want our cooperation, but we stay here and keep working on the experiments, with Hap hiding behind the scenes?” I ask slowly. “I don’t understand where the freedom part comes in.”

“Right,” he sighs. “Let’s cut to the chase. This is our proposal. You will be employed by the agency, with everything that entails – including compensation, comfortable room and board, and future leave time, during which you will enjoy some degree of freedom. If you agree to participate voluntarily – all four of you, as a unit – the agency will grant you each two weeks of leave, after you complete your first year of cooperation without incident. You will, of course, create cover stories, which we will support with documentation, about where you have been and why you can’t stay. At the end of two weeks, you return to us, and after that, we’ll arrange for leave time on a regular basis.”

Jeremy takes a sip of wine and allows me to process what he’s said. It’s a lot to take in. _Getting out_. Going home. Meeting my kid. Hugging my parents. Finding OA? Everything I’ve ever wanted. Someday. Just… not yet. I have to wait.

How much longer am I willing to wait? “And if we don’t?”

“Then you stay here. I hope that it will be more pleasant for you than your time in Dr. Percy’s laboratory-“ Laboratory? I openly scoff at the word. It was a prison. He continues. “-But we must have you here to move the work forward, one way or another. You’re too valuable for us to release permanently at this time. I hope you understand that. The only question is whether you stay willingly, or stay by force.”

I consider this. It doesn’t sound like much of a choice. Either way, we stay here. My head is growing slightly foggy with the wine now, and I set it down. “I guess you’ll be watching us all the time still. Even when we leave.”

“Yes.”

“So we’re prisoners either way.”

“I’d prefer not to think of it that way-“

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I mutter.

“-but I suppose it’s not untrue.” He fixes me with a look. “Still, I hope that the right choice is obvious. Do you want to be held against your will, or have the freedom to see your families someday and establish a future?” 

It does seem obvious. Only one choice means getting to walk out of here, even if it’s a long time away, even if it’s still under their thumb. But I can’t commit the others without talking to them. I can’t make a choice for them. Quarterback or no. Still…

“What about restitution?” I ask boldly. The wine is having an effect. “We’ll never get back the years of our lives that he ripped away from us for this experiment. The time in his ‘laboratory’.” I spit the word out sarcastically, feeling bitter. “The way he treated us.”

Jeremy looks at me with surprise. “You think you have bargaining power here.”

“Don’t I?” I ask. “Don’t we have something you want? If we didn’t, you would just keep us as prisoners. There’s no need for some song and dance.”

“What we want is your full consent,” Jeremy agrees.

“Well, you’ll never have _that_ ,” I snap, a little too fast. “The question here is how much coercion you’ll have to use. So I’m asking, what would restitution look like?”

“Fair enough,” he says. “I’ll talk to our finance department and see what we can come up with to start you off.”

I lick my lips. “I still have to talk to the others.”

“I thought you might say that,” he agrees. “Tell you what. I’ll let you have the conference room as long as you need it. The food, too. We’ll have your team brought up here. Eat, relax, discuss. When you’re ready, you pick up the phone and dial the operator, and we’ll send someone for you.”

He lifts the mouse cage and leaves the room with it.

I settle back in one of the chairs and wait, unwilling to touch any more of my food until the others have joined me. It doesn’t take long – within a few minutes, the door opens and the guards escort my three nervous companions into the room, closing the door behind them. They all look to me instantly.

My team, he called them. He was right, I think. Maybe I have always thought of them that way, even if I couldn’t articulate it. What else does he know that I don’t?

The moment the door is closed, we all breathe a collective sigh, feeling the safety of our numbers. Reflexively, Scott moves toward Rachel and meets her in a relieved embrace. Renata does the same to me. I pull away quickly.

“Guys,” I say, gesturing toward the lunch. “The food is here for-”

I haven’t even gotten all the words out before the others are filling up their plates. Scott devours a full breadstick while waiting for his turn to grab pasta. I take my plate back to the counter, finally ready for a more substantial portion of pasta and a couple of the cookies. We settle around the table, wordlessly inhaling food for the first couple of minutes.

“What’d they do to you earlier, man?” I ask Scott. He’s sitting to my left chomping on another breadstick. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” he answers. “Took some blood, asked me questions about dying. The usual.” It’s what I expected, but I still feel better to hear it from him.

“Death and Other Unexpected Life Events, a Memoir, by Scott Brown,” I murmur.

He chuckles at that, and for a moment, everything is okay again. “Eighty page index,” he says. “See Roberts, Homer.” 

I shake my head. “Epilogue by the zombie mouse.” He and I are the only ones who think this is hilarious.

“So, Homer,” Renata says, cutting to the chase. “Care to fill us in on what’s going on here?”

Already feeling full, I set my fork down. I don’t like being the one to have to explain this to them. If Jeremy is trying to ostracize me from the others, he’s succeeding. “Our new hosts have offered us a deal.”

Her fork clatters to the table. “What kind of deal?” Scott and Rachel exchange a glance that I can’t interpret.

I carefully lay out the provisions that Jeremy relayed to me, trying to stay as neutral as possible.

“Holy shit,” Renata says slowly.

“Well. We don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Scott asks, looking around for reassurance. “This is the closest chance we’ve had in years at freedom.”

“But it’s not really freedom at all,” I point out.

Rachel is shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“I’ll tell you what it is,” Renata says. “How are we supposed to help them, when Hap just gets to walk away like nothing happened? After everything he’s done?”

“He murdered at _least_ three people that we know of,” Rachel adds. “Who knows how many more?”

“Maybe four.” I remember what OA told me about her suspicions only a few days ago.

“Do we still belong to Hap then?” Scott asks. “I’m confused about that. Is he giving us away or something?”

“He’s not going anywhere. And it’s not like the experiments are done,” I continue. “If we agree to this, we might be committing ourselves to voluntarily face more death, or torture, or worse. Are we okay with that?”

“We should ask more about their plans for the experiments,” Rachel says, and the others nod along in agreement. I issue my own nod of acknowledgment.

“But the experiments will happen, whether we agree or not,” Scott points out. “All we’re deciding is if we want to go home someday. Don’t we?”

“You don’t have a home, Scott,” Rachel says softly.

“So? I will fuckin’ go and sit on a street corner in the cold for two weeks if I have a choice. Because it’s my _choice_.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Renata cuts in. “The important thing is, do we want to stick to our principles and resist, or give in, for the chance of some limited freedom?”

“Well, shit,” I say. “When you put it like that." 

“Fuck your principles!” Scott bursts out. “All of you are losing your goddamn minds! Do we want to stop being prisoners some day, or do we want to stand for your fuckin’ principles?” 

“But think about it,” Renata continues. “Why would Hap just hand us over if it doesn’t benefit him? If we go along with this, don’t think for a second we aren’t helping him.”

“What do you think, Homer?” Rachel asks, her eyes pleading with me for direction.

I shake my head, trying to clear it and get my thoughts straight. “I keep thinking about what OA would do.”

“She would never cooperate,” Renata snaps. “You know she would fight back.” 

“No. That’s not true. She would say yes.” I look around at them. “Because fighting isn’t her style. And because it’s a chance to learn more about Hap’s experiment. Also, she couldn’t bear to see any of us suffer any more than we have to.”

“But she’s not here,” Rachel points out. “Homer, I don’t think you want this.”

“I didn’t say that,” I say cautiously.

Scott looks at me with expectation. “So then what do you think we should do?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. It felt obvious a few minutes ago, but now? How are we supposed to trust anyone connected to _him_?” Renata nods in agreement. I poke at the salad on my plate. “But I also don’t see how we can turn down the best chance we’ve ever had at a taste of freedom. It’s something. We don’t lose anything by cooperating. Do we?”

We all look around the room for a long moment, reading each others’ faces.

“So, we’re doing this,” Renata sighs, leaning back in her chair. I see a sad, relieved smile briefly appear on Scott’s face. “We should ask for more,” she says. “You said they’re working on restitution, but they still want our cooperation, even if it’s just to make them feel better.”

“I want his data,” I say firmly. “If we’re going to be volunteers, we should be consulted on the experiment. And I want their commitment that it stops with the four of us.”

“I want Hap to suffer for what he did to us,” Renata says. I glance away, but I can’t disagree. 

“I want a fucking bathtub. And cable TV,” Scott says.

“And I want us to be together,” Rachel says. “We should ask them about the housing arrangements.” Renata nods in firm agreement.

I look around. “Are we ready to bring this dude back in?”

I dial the operator as directed, and within a few minutes, Jeremy strolls back into the room. The four of us stand in a row, Rachel and Renata and Scott flanking me, a unified front.

“We’ll do it,” I say, and I see a glint in his eyes at the victory. “With a few conditions.”

“I warned you, there may not be room to bargain,” Jeremy says.

“Okay. But we want more information on your experiments. We want to know what’s coming. We want access to the data.”

“Your participation will be key,” he agrees. “Is that all?”

“Housing,” I continue. “What are the arrangements?”

“We’ll be moving you from the prison barracks into our staff dormitory. If you agree, I can move you there shortly. We have a suite that I think will fit your whole group. You should find it comfortable.”

“Is there a bathtub and a TV?” Rachel asks.

“Yes,” he says, a little puzzled at the question. “You’ll have standard amenities, of course.”

“Good.” I glance at Scott and he looks satisfied, if not downright giddy at the thought that he could take a bath tonight.

“That should do,” I say. “And no more participants. It stops with us.”

But he’s shaking his head. “We don’t know where the work will go.”

“Homer. What do you really want?” Renata asks softly.

I glance at Rachel and she also gives me a slight nod of encouragement.

“You won’t involve any previous research subjects,” I clarify.

It takes Jeremy a moment to realize what I’m talking about. “Miss Johnson.”

“You don’t touch her, don’t even look for her. She’s off limits.” My voice rises in intensity.

Jeremy takes a long sigh, studying me. “We’ll have to talk about that. She’s a source of valuable information. We have a lot of data on her.”

I feel the hair on my arms start to prickle at that. “No. Hap set her free. It’s done.”

He shakes his head slowly. “This might be a deal we’re unable to make, Mr. Roberts." 

My brain struggles to process this. I feel panic setting in now. The options are flipping through my brain and I’m overwhelmed. I look to Renata, whose face has also turned pale. “You don’t need her. You have all of us.”

“We may need her. Eventually.”

“No.”

“Homer,” Rachel hisses from behind me. I turn and see that she’s motioning slightly with her head, offering to take over the negotiations. I shake my head with resignation, staring at the floor, and step aside, ushering her forward. Tears sting my eyes and I blink them back in anger. “We want there to be some kind of consequence for Hap,” she says. The words sound almost sinister coming from her otherwise slow and angelic tone. “For what he did to us. We cannot move forward without that.”

Jeremy purses his lips. “Let me see what I can do,” he says. “I have to consult my team, but he crossed lines we don’t approve of. It’s reasonable to think that there should be some consequences.”

“Okay,” Rachel says. I feel my fingers tightening into a fist, but I say nothing. “You’ll continue to consult us, then, including on Prairie.”

“Yes,” Jeremy says. “Will that suffice?”

The other three turn to look at me. I stretch my fingers out and stare at them.

“Yes.”

Even as the word comes out of my lips I hate myself, but I don’t have any other choice. Jeremy is right. I have no power here. I have no choices.

Every choice I’m offered has been made for me before it’s even presented. And that’s the part I hate most of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! I know there's not a lot of readership 'round these parts, so please let me know if you're enjoying this - weekly updates are still the plan.


	5. Status Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The captives settle in to their new situation with apprehension and catch a startling news report. Homer begins to test the agency's boundaries and look for new opportunities.

Jeremy calls for a staffer to wrap up our leftovers and deliver them to our new quarters, then leads the way himself. The tan-suited goons accompany us through the long corridors past locked door after locked door, but they seem far less menacing. They’re giving us more space already.

The dormitory suite is plain, but for us, it feels downright luxurious. Almost enough to fool us into thinking we’re free.

There are four small bedrooms, two on each side, each with a twin bed and a desk and a closet and drawers. It reminds me a little of my freshman dorm at Pershing. Each pair of rooms has a separate shared bathroom. The girls take first pick and choose one wing together, leaving Scott and I to claim the other. In the center of the apartment we have a shared kitchen and a living area with a dining table, a stiff navy blue couch and a couple matching armchairs, and a small flat screen television. We have privacy and we have companionship. We have space to live. To spend our down time. To feel human.

It’s downright bizarre.

My bedroom has a window. It overlooks a neatly trimmed lawn of green grass that leads to a thick line of trees. That’s all I can see, but I can see it from my bed. I wonder how much further past the trees I would have to go to really be free. I press my forehead to the glass and stare out at the sky. It’s overcast today, but it’s still so bright that I have to squint to look up at it. I wonder if we can see the stars at night from here.

“Oh, yeah,” Scott says, calling out to me from the bathroom where he’s already running water in the sink to check the temperature, “I could definitely get used to this.”

On a whim, I wander to the front door of the unit and take a deep breath before trying it. Locked, from the outside. Of course. We can’t leave. This is another prison. It’s just a fancier one. Our fortunes keep changing, but our destiny is still the same.

I collapse on the sofa and investigate the remote control, thumbing the flat screen TV on to drown out the distant sounds of my companions.

A bathtub, a refrigerator, a window, a television – after years without these simple things, it’s hard not to find them overwhelming again. I wonder if instead of getting closer to freedom, we’re sinking further into permanent captivity with no hope of ever leaving. 

I switch the channel to ESPN. My old friend. I don’t even know how any of my teams are doing, let alone who plays for them now. I haven’t seen a score in years. Sometimes Hap would play the radio while he worked downstairs and I could listen from my cell, but he didn’t tend to listen to the kinds of stations that would give you sports scores. Watching the scroll of scores makes me feel like a different person, someone who I thought had died long ago. It reminds me how long I’ve been a prisoner. 

I don’t like it. I switch over to a news program. 

I can hear Rachel and Scott whispering in the kitchen as they open the drawers to see what we have. I wonder if they’re really going to sleep in their separate rooms. But I know if I ask they’ll be annoyed. So I have to think about something else.

What kind of deal with the devil have we made? Is there anything in our mysterious nature that will protect us in spite of it? I wonder what there is that we can discover if we’re more fully involved with the experiments. She’s right, we’re different, but how different? What are we really? And will these people help us answer that question, or just push us further away from the truth? Does it even matter anymore, if we’re being treated better?

I chew absently at my fingers, biting at my nails. I know that many of my questions could be answered if she was here. She instinctively understands things before we do. She makes leaps that the rest of us struggle to catch up with. But she’s usually right. If there’s one thing I believe in after everything I’ve been through, it’s her.

I want her to be as far away from this as possible right now. I want her to have a chance at a normal life - not this twisted, fucked-up moral conundrum of a prison we’ve landed ourselves in now. I would rather put myself through the hell of being here without her than see her put through hell like the rest of us.

But at the same time, I don’t know how to do any of this without her. Jeremy is right, I may be the leader of the team, but she’s the soul.

"In Missouri, two mysteries have been solved, but another is just getting started." I glance half-heartedly at the television at the mention of my home state. Maybe, in another year, I’ll get to see it again. Until then, it feels like a foreign country.

"Last week, an unidentified young woman was hospitalized with injuries she received after jumping off a bridge. Yesterday, a St. Louis Hospital spokesperson confirmed her identity as 28-year-old Prairie Johnson-“

My head shoots up. The headline on TV reads: "MICHIGAN MIRACLE". I launch myself from the couch. “Guys! Hey!”

"-from Michigan, legally blind, who vanished in 2008. However, medical experts have confirmed that she is, in fact, now able to see. Authorities say that she has so far offered no explanation for her disappearance, or for the seemingly miraculous return of her eyesight. Johnson returned home earlier this week, and the FBI plans to interview her in Michigan. The family has made no comment except to ask for privacy at this time." 

My fingers brush the screen right as she vanishes. I swallow, hard, and turn around. The others have gathered just behind me. I point at the TV. "She was right there," I whisper. I look back at them. "She made it home." I hear the wonder in my own voice and try to swallow it back. I’m still a prisoner, but now at least I know there’s a reason. Everything has an equal and opposite reaction. My pain and suffering is the price for her freedom. Maybe it’s worth it.

“My god,” Rachel murmurs. “She’s national news.”

“Imagine what we would be if we could get outta here,” Scott says.

We’re all silent for a few moments. What _could_ we be if we could get outta here? We could be so much.

“So she’s okay,” Renata says hesitantly.

“I guess.” I can’t look at the others. I bite at my fingers again. There’s nothing else to say. They drift away.

I switch back over to ESPN for a couple of minutes, then head to my room, the TV blaring mindlessly behind me. There’s nothing else worth watching now. I lower myself gingerly onto my new bed. The first real bed I’ve had to myself in years. _My_ room. It feels so unnatural.

I hear a commotion in the kitchen as the leftovers from our lunch arrive. Then, just like that, the visitors are gone, and the four of us are the only people in the suite. Alone. Trapped. 

Home. 

Scott appears at my door. “New clothes came with the food,” he says, handing one of the folded uniforms to me. I take it from him and study it. It’s a tan one piece jumpsuit, with black trim. It matches the uniforms that the goons have been wearing. With disgust, I hurl it at the wastebasket in the corner of my room. 

“I’m not wearing that shit,” I say. “Ever.” 

Scott nods and tosses his own uniform after it, with a little bit of glee. It’s the easiest acquiescence I’ve ever gotten from him after eight years together locked in a cage. _Leader._ Am I? 

“Y’know, I thought for sure you was gonna tank that whole deal back there.”

I shake my head. “It wouldn’t have helped if I said no. They’ll go after her no matter what. That doesn’t make it easier to say yes.”

“So? Let ‘em bring her back. Wasn’t the whole big idea that we get five movements and peace out?”

“You think they’re gonna leave five of us together? Four, sure. But they’re not going to risk five. It’ll never be that easy.”

“Maybe she belongs here,” Rachel says gently, coming up behind him. She spots our uniforms in the wastebasket, glances at the one in her hands, and after a moment, hers joins them in the trash as well. “It might not be so bad.”

“Not so bad?” I echo. “She’s free, Rach! She got away. That’s all I ever wanted for her. That’s all any of us want.”

“No.” Renata is suddenly there, too. I flop back on my bed and close my eyes. After a moment I hear the familiar _clomp_ of her uniform joining the rest in the trash, which is at least a small bit of comfort to me. “Homer, no matter where she is, if she’s not with you, she is not free. Don’t fool yourself.”

I purse my lips at that. “If she loves me, she’ll understand why I don’t want her here.”

“If she loves you, she doesn’t give a damn where she is, if you’re not free,” Renata says fiercely, her voice rising in passion. “I remember a time not so long ago when she was willing to give up her freedom, in exchange for yours.”

I look up, startled. It was only a few days ago, though it feels like longer. It was the last real conversation I had with her. The last time we shared our bed. The last time I saw her smile at me. “You heard that?”

“I didn’t sleep as much as you thought. And anyone who would say what she said? That woman cares more about you than she does about her own happiness.” I know she’s right, and it hurts me to admit it. I don’t deserve that, but it’s the truth. “Not to mention her passion for the study, for the knowledge. She’d want to be here for this if she knew. Deep down, you know it’s true.”

“No.” I jump to my feet and push them aside, bursting out to the hall, where I pace to the living room and back. “We’re trapped, but she doesn’t have to be. She can still get away. For once, just once, I want to protect her.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Scott is right on my heels. “You think you’re gonna just stroll out of this place a year from now, head straight to her house, and they ain’t gonna be all over you? They know where she is, they have to, and we’re gonna be watched every step of the way, too. Hell, they’re probably listening to us right now.”

“I know that.” I feel irritated. “But as long as she’s free, there’s a chance.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Scott says. “And them too. I’m gonna put this food away.” Rachel and Renata join him to help.

Something flickers across the TV that breaks into my train of thought. “What the hell?” I burst out.

Scott pops back into the living room, alarmed. “What?”

“Los Angeles stole our fucking franchise!” He stares at me blankly. “My football team is gone!” He registers this and rolls his eyes at me, but says nothing. I settle back on the couch, glaring at the TV. “Unbelievable.” Scott snorts and exits the room.

Renata wanders up, a half-empty bottle of leftover red wine in hand, and settles into the armchair beside the sofa. “If it makes you feel any better, my people would say it’s not real football.” 

I give her what I hope is a withering look. We’ve had this argument before. “It doesn’t help, but thanks for playing.”

“We could go to sports matches again, you know,” she points out. “Or to the movies. Even a concert. All those things are part of being human, and he kept us from it. Now we have a chance at seeing it all again someday.”

“We’ve missed a lot,” I agree.

She passes me the bottle and I take a swig out of it, wiping a drip of wine from my lips. “No cups?”

“Tomorrow, we can be civilized and use cups,” she says. “Today, we woke up as savages.” She holds up the other thing she carried in, a pad of paper. “They told us to write down a shopping list. Number one.” She points at the only thing she’s written on the paper so far – ‘guitar’. I nod my approval. I’m the only one of us who’s heard her guitar playing, but we all know what the lack of music has done to her.

“Think they’d get me some weights?”

“Maybe. You should ask. They seem to have money.”

“Tell ‘em I’m gonna need organic produce and dairy, then,” Scott says as he walks by again, carrying a pair of towels toward our bathroom.

I squint at him. “You just spent like ten years eating monkey pellets.”

“Exactly!” he says as he disappears into the back. “I got a lot to make up for.”

“Organic… produce,” Renata repeats, writing it down.

“Hey,” I call after Scott. “You’re so picky about your produce, does that mean you’re not gonna start smoking again?”

“Eh, I dunno,” is the answer from the bathroom.

“Because if you are, and we’re gonna share a bathroom,” I say, “please, ask for a brand that doesn’t smell like Hap.”

“Shit.” Scott reappears in the living room. “You’re right. _That’s_ what killed my buzz.”

“Are you joking?” Renata asks, squinting at him.

“Maybe,” he says. “But now that I’m healthy, I guess I wanna try takin’ care of myself for awhile. So leave off cigarettes. But we need some new clothes,” he adds before I can say anything. “Because you’re right. We ain’t wearin’ their shitty uniforms.” He leans over the armchair and lowers his voice, with an intensity I’ve rarely seen from him. “I want these assholes to remember every time they see us that we never signed up for this and never will.”

Renata nods in agreement as she scratches onto the list. I take another swig of wine from the bottle. I feel pleasantly warm and light-headed. Scott is alive and maybe healthier than he’s ever been, we have wine, and we’re united. I have a bedroom of my own. We’re getting organic produce and weights and a guitar. I can almost forget for a few blissful seconds at a time that our captors are considering going after the girl I love and there may not be anything I can do to save her.

I set the bottle down and walk back to my room, where I close the door and throw myself onto my bed. It’s a lie. I can’t forget. No matter how drunk I get, or how full my stomach feels, or how comfortable I am here, there’s still a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, a queasiness I can’t escape.

After a moment, I stand up and stretch myself out on the floor, then start the movements. Yesterday I could almost feel her. Today I can’t get back to that same feeling, that sense that she’s present with me, but at least moving through the familiar gestures is a reminder of her and the deep connection we share, even when we’re apart.

I go all the way through, including the fifth movement. I briefly wonder if anything will happen, but I’m alone, the room is still, and the only movement is my own body, quietly sliding through each move. It doesn’t do anything.

When I’m done, though, I feel a wave of calmness. The queasiness is still sitting deep in the pit of my stomach, but something has taken it over, reminding me that I can’t do anything about it. It’s the same frustrated resignation I used to feel every time I watched Hap take her out of her cell to somewhere I couldn’t see or follow. The knowledge that it’s an unfair, cruel situation, but that stressing about it will only make me feel worse and I need to preserve my anger for when I can channel it into something more productive.

The resigned, pained acquiescence of a captive.

That’s enough to calm me, and though I know it’s only mid-afternoon, I climb into the bed and slide under the covers. I want to see what a nap feels like in this newest, most luxurious version yet of our prison.

I dream about her.

In my dream, we’re together and free, running away from Hap’s cabin, crashing through the woods, hand in hand. I should feel desperate, I know we’re escaping, but all I feel is relief, and I don’t know why. I hear footsteps crackling after us and I don’t care. All that matters is that she’s with me. I don’t care who’s chasing us or what’s going to happen next. I feel joy.

Then we have to stop because she’s throwing up. I look around to see if they’re going to catch up to us, but they aren’t, because it isn’t her, it’s Scott, and the sounds aren’t coming from my dream, they’re coming from the bathroom that connects our rooms.

I sit up, blinking, processing this. She’s gone. I’ve lost her all over again.

“Hey man, you okay in there?” I ask over the retching. I hear a moan in response, which makes me jump up quickly. I cross to the door, which I yank open without ceremony. It’s not like he and I haven’t seen each other in about every unfortunate state imaginable at this point. Scott is bending over the toilet looking ill. “Want some water?” I offer, and he grunts urgently without lifting his head.

I walk out to the kitchen and manage to locate one of the glasses Renata had ignored earlier. I fill it with water and quickly dash back to the bathroom, where I have to grab a couple of his dreadlocks to pull them away from his face. I remember doing this for a girlfriend in high school once, which almost makes me laugh, but the last thing I want to do is piss the guy off while he’s upchucking.

After another retch, he sits back and holds out his hand for the water, which he sips gratefully, leaning his head back against the tile wall. I settle my weight against the sink, studying him.

“Sorry,” he says. “Stomach just isn’t used to it, I guess. All that food.”

“And alcohol,” I add. “Take it easy, okay, man?”

“Fuck that,” he says. “It was worth it.”

I have to grin at him. “Give it a few minutes before you tuck back in at least.” A bell rings out. “We have a doorbell?” He shrugs. I head out to the main room again since I hadn’t seen the girls earlier. Their doors are closed and I assume they’re also sleeping.

I look through the keyhole and see Jeremy on the other side. I set my face in a scowl before opening the door. Somehow now it’s unlocked. He could barge in if he wanted. He controls our locks. He’s being artificially polite, and I don’t trust it.

He steps inside, glancing around. “How are the new quarters?”

“Fine,” I say, closing the door behind him and leaning against it.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Asleep.” I don’t see the need to mention Scott’s current situation. I fold my arms. “It’s been awhile since we had real beds.”

“Good,” he says briskly. “I’m glad that everyone’s getting comfortable. And is Mr. Brown feeling better?”

My mind quickly processes this. Of course they’re watching us. Even in the bathroom. That’s creepy, but it isn’t like our privacy hasn’t been violated every single day since we’ve been under Hap’s control. Just more of the same. Still, I make a mental note to warn Scott and Rachel before they take advantage of having a door. We can probably figure out where the cameras are if we look around later.

“He’ll be fine.” I study him. “You came all the way up here to check on him?”

“I came up because I thought it might be a good time for you and I to talk.”

“Well,” I say, “apparently, I’m at your disposal now.”

He looks me up and down. “We sent new clothes.”

“We aren’t wearing those.”

“Your clothes are rags.”

I straighten up. “Sure. We’ll wear rags before we wear those uniforms.” I notice over his shoulder that Scott is lurking back in his bedroom with the door open, listening to what I’m saying as he sits on his bed, sipping the water I brought him. 

“Then I’ll send something else up for you,” he says.

Part of me, the good old Midwestern farm boy part of me, is tempted by reflex to thank him, but I keep my lips clamped shut. I’m not thanking anyone for anything here. It’s my victory and I earned it.

“Do you have your shopping list?” he asks.

“We aren’t finished.”

“There will be more time. Let us at least get started on it.”

I glance around. Renata left it on the kitchen counter. She and the others have already listed numerous basic necessities under the luxuries we’ve been missing. I rip off the top sheet and hand it to him.

“I’m going to take this to Purchasing,” he says. Purchasing? How big is this operation? “Why don’t you come with me?” 

“Why?” I snap back immediately.

“Give you more of a chance to see the grounds,” he says. “And we can talk some more.”

I do want to walk. I really do. To stretch my legs without being poked or prodded or pulled. It still isn’t true freedom, but it doesn’t matter. I glance back at Scott again for guidance, and he shrugs.

Without further adieu, Jeremy motions me out of the apartment, locking the others in behind us, and we start down the corridor together. I glance around for goons, but they’re nowhere to be seen. 

“So when am I dying again?” 

He clears his throat. “There won’t be any more dying on my watch. That’s done. You have five movements, and there’s no need to travel. What we want to do is study you and the movements in a controlled setting, and that will start once we finish reviewing the lab records and have a better sense of what exactly you’re doing.” 

No more dying. I should be happier about that, but it doesn’t undo the terrors I’ve faced or the nightmares I still have sometimes.

He motions me into an elevator. I wait until the doors close for my next question. I clasp my hands behind my back and take a deep breath. “When can I start looking at the files?”

“You might find the records disturbing,” he cautions.

“I get that.” I fix him with a stare and try not to let on how much my heart is pounding with fear at how much I'm asking for. “If you want us to advance the work, we need to understand what Hap knows. About all of it.”

“What do you understand?”

I lick my lips as the elevator opens. I have to speed up to keep up with him as he strides swiftly down the hall. “Not much.”

He opens the door into a sterile-looking office suite with a sign that says “PURCHASING” and hands the shopping list to a uniformed staffer. She looks young, practically a kid. She has dark hair cut in a bob, with bangs hanging low above almond-shaped eyes. Her uniform doesn’t quite hide her slender figure. In another world, maybe another lifetime, I might have been attracted to her. I wonder if she understands what’s really happening here. I wonder what she goes home to every night and if any of this keeps her awake. “Nicole. We’ll need all of these items express delivered for the Percy project,” he says.

I make a face. “You have to call it that?” 

He actually chuckles. “We could come up with something better. Come on, let’s go outside.”

_Outside._

The sun is about to set, it’s low over the far building as we step out into the courtyard, but I still squint in its direction, feeling weak and overwhelmed. He stops and looks back at me. I break out of my trance after a moment and follow him down the sidewalk along the edge of the building.

“We need time outside,” I say in a low, urgent voice. “Soon. All of us.”

“There’s a courtyard on the other side of the building. We’ll arrange for you to have it for a couple of hours a day. I think we can make that happen by tomorrow morning.”

All these things are coming so easily. There must be something he wants-

“Where do the movements come from?” Jeremy asks abruptly. 

I give him a suspicious look. “Our near-death experiences.” 

“We know that. But the records don’t show how you got them. It seems that you concealed that information from your researcher, and he couldn’t figure it out from the evidence he had.”

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “We just woke up and knew them, I guess.”

“I’ve been incredibly transparent with you so far, Mr. Roberts. I understand you have your reasons, but...”

“That’s it,” I insist. “They were in our bodies. That’s all.”

“But you sought them. You tried to trick Dr. Percy in order to travel awake. You knew what you were doing in there. What were you looking for?”

“I’ll tell you after I get to see his files,” I say firmly.

“Dr. Percy also seems to be under the impression that your work was linked to the mythology of angels.”

I shiver a little reflexively. “That’s what OA said,” I murmur, before realizing I’ve said more than I should have.

“Who?” Jeremy asks politely.

I shake my head. “Nothing.” But it’s too late.

“OA? Is that something from your near-death experience?”

I fold my arms. “Take me back to the others, please.”

He studies me with a look. “This can’t work if you don’t trust us.”

“I can’t trust you when you lock us up,” I spit back.

He shrugs. “Fine,” he says. “One other thing before you go back, though. Could you tell me more about what the conditions were like for you in the lab?”

I shiver a little. “Conditions? Like, the cages?”

“Yes,” he says.

I hesitate, images from all the painful years tumbling through my mind. “We were nothing but animals to him,” I say quietly, staring at my lap. “He gave us monkey kibble to eat. He made us piss in a stream. He barely kept us alive, just enough to give him the precious data he needed.”

“He didn’t hurt you, though, did he? He never beat you, nothing like that?”

Like he’s supposed to be a fucking hero or something for never hitting me after he first subdued me. “He didn’t need to,” I say weakly. “There wasn’t a whole we could do that he didn’t already control.”

“I saw that his notes discussed his efforts to make your time more comfortable. You had books?”

“Sure,” I say with a short laugh. “He gave us books. Only after Scott broke down one day and started smearing shit on the walls of the precious cage he worked so hard to build. It wasn’t because he was a nice dude. No, what that guy did to us was torture.”

He fixes me with a look. “I’m not defending him. But I want to hear from you. What about the experiments? He did knock you out, right? He tried to spare you the suffering at first?”

I feel slightly emboldened by his encouragement. “Knocked us out. Murdered us. Over and over. Usually he brought us back. Not always. Not that he told us anything about it. We had to find out on our own. There was no consent. Less than that. He lied to us, all of us, he tricked us. He trapped us. Do his records show how he lured me down there, years ago? How he figured out what I needed more than anything and told me I could have it if I came with him? How he overpowered me and knocked me out and I woke up on a stone floor in a cage? How I cried myself to sleep on a hard cot every night for a year until I didn’t have any tears left?” I glance at Jeremy as I finally take a breath from this monologue, and he looks sufficiently troubled. But I remind myself that he’s also trying to secure my trust, which means - by default - that I have to be careful about trusting him.

“He’s sanitized the records,” Jeremy murmurs thoughtfully.

“He never expected us to be around to contradict him,” I say, as the realization dawns on me. “He thought he would be able to get everything he needed out of us and kill us off, and then only his word would matter.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Jeremy says hastily.

“Your agency is collaborating with a fucking mad scientist,” I spit, surprising even myself at my boldness. “It doesn’t matter how nice our prison is or how you force us to cooperate. He’s still a sociopath, and you know that, but you’re supporting him.”

“Homer,” Jeremy says, his tone a clear warning. I'm starting to hit his limits. “We’re doing our best here to fix what we can. We want to salvage this.”

I look back at him, feeling helpless. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice.”

“You could choose not to cooperate,” he says. “Which is why I’m trying to understand where you’re coming from.”

“Okay. I want to talk to Hap." 

“You just told me he’s a sociopath.”

“Yeah. But I want to hear it from him.” I fix him with a look, as intense as I can manage. “I had my life ripped away from me and spent eight years in his hell. The least he could do – the least _you_ could do – is make him tell me his theories to my face after all this time.”

“Fine,” Jeremy says. “I’ll arrange for you to meet with Hap tomorrow if you can answer one question for me.”

I raise my eyebrows and wait patiently.

“Why do you call Prairie OA?”

I open my mouth and then close it. I feel a burst of anger inside me just to hear the name from his lips. It’s too personal, too private to discuss with anyone we don’t trust. He doesn’t deserve to know. But my desire to confront Hap again in this new dynamic is also overwhelming.

“It’s her true name,” I say at last, reluctantly. “It was revealed to her in a near-death experience.” I want to tell him I never want to hear that name from his lips again, but I manage to keep my mouth shut.

Jeremy nods, satisfied. “Great. I’ll let you know about the meeting with Hap.”

He walks me back to the apartment. My eyes flit back and forth as we walk. I’m starting to recognize landmarks. A sign here, a door there. I think I could get from the apartment to the courtyard by myself if I had to. I wonder if they’ll ever let me. 

I stop at the door of the apartment and turn around. “You haven’t given me an answer yet on reparations.”

“Look.” He gives a heavy sigh. “There isn’t a number high enough to make up for what you’ve been through. And I regret that, Homer. I do. But we will see how close we can come.”

To my surprise, I feel tears stinging my eyes. It’s the first thing anyone has said that’s affected me. It’s the first time in two days of this bullshit, or even the many years we’ve spent in captivity, that I’ve felt like anyone came close to getting it.

He’s right. The money doesn’t matter. It’s the message.

I don’t want a price tag on my years of hell. I want to know that somebody fucking _gets_ it, that they appreciate what we’ve gone through for these groundbreaking discoveries, all the sacrifices we never agreed to make. That they’re willing to give up something that matters, too.

I turn back around. There’s a bolt system installed outside our door. Reflexively, I glance over it as he unlocks it. It looks like it was installed in a hurry, but I don’t think we’re going to be getting through it anytime soon.

He catches me looking. “Maybe we can do away with this eventually,” he offers.

“Sure,” I say, feeling tired, before passing through the open door. I shut it back in his face and stand there, listening for the clicks as he latches me back in.

Rachel and Scott are sitting at the kitchen counter, looking at me expectantly.

“We get to go outside soon,” I say. I brush past them to the fridge and take out a water bottle. I hadn’t realized just how dry my mouth was. Nerves, probably.

“Halle-fucking-lujah,” Scott mutters, and I know he’s not being sarcastic.

“How you feeling, man?" 

“Better.”

“I told him not to eat so fast.” Rachel shakes her head.

“Sorry, mom,” Scott says, glaring at her. I hide my smirk before he looks back at me.

“What did he want with you?” she asks.

I take a long sip of water while I think about how to answer her question. “He’s working me over,” I say finally. “Trying to win me to his side or something, I think. Asking me about the experiment. I think they’re going to let me go through some of Hap’s records.”

“Why you?”

I wince a little as I remember what Jeremy said. “He thinks I’m the leader,” I say with an apologetic shrug. “I guess he thinks that if he can win me over, I’ll bring the rest of you along.”

“Fuck that,” Scott sniffs before I can say anything else. He squints at me. “So how about the part you’re not telling us?” 

“Scott…”

“We really gonna play this game again?”

I sigh and toss the bottle in the wastebasket. It lands with a clunk. “I asked if I could meet with Hap tomorrow to talk about the experiment.”

“The fuck you did?” he explodes.

“Hey,” Rachel whispers. She rubs his arm, trying to calm him down. It doesn’t work. He shakes her off.

“You’re meeting with him? Without us?”

“You can come-”

“Like hell!”

“So don’t,” I say, irritated. “This oppositional shit is getting old, Scott.” He huffs at me, but I continue. “In case you haven’t noticed, the power dynamic is shifting. We need to know what he knows.”

“Then what? You gonna experiment on us, too?” His words stun me into momentary silence.

“That’s not what he’s saying,” Rachel finally says gently.

“Look,” I say. “If we’re going to cooperate, I want to know what he’s been doing on his end this whole time. Everything we know we figured out on our own. I want to know what he has.” 

“It’s what OA would do if she were here,” Rachel agrees.

“If I was in a room alone here with that motherfucker, the only thing I’d do would be to deck him,” Scott says.

“That’s tempting,” I concede. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Rachel laughs out loud, clapping her hands. “Oh my god,” she says. “Can you imagine what it would feel like after all these years to just _punch_ him?”

“I can’t picture you hitting anyone,” Scott says, turning to her in surprise. “Not even Hap.”

“I used to have a mean right hook,” Rachel says wistfully. “I gave Kennedy Meyer a black eye in seventh grade.”

“Wasn’t that the chick that spread a rumor about you liking girls?” Scott asks. We’ve had a lot of down time to compare our biographies over the years, but I’m still impressed that he remembers that.

“Yeah,” she says. “But it wasn’t for that, cause that was kinda true. It was for picking on this kid who was mainstreamed into our class.”

“Protector of the underdog,” I say, offering her a small smile.

“Always,” Rachel says.

Scott reaches an arm around her and squeezes her shoulders. Which reminds me.

“There’s cameras in here,” I say, pointing at the ceiling.

The three of us immediately start pacing the apartment and are able to quickly identify the cameras, one in each of our rooms, on the ceiling. They haven’t disguised them at all.

We spend the next couple of hours trying to figure out how to cover Scott’s camera. We don’t have many tools in the apartment, but after several failed attempts, we finally manage to get a ripped piece of the aluminum foil from our pasta lunch dish secured firmly over the lens.

Scott clasps my hand to help me climb down from the desk. I hop down and he gives me a bit of a thank you shake before breaking contact. “We can do the other rooms too,” he says. 

“Naw,” I say. “The more of ‘em we do, the more likely they are to bust in here and fix it.” I shrug in his direction. “Enjoy the privacy.”

He gives me a look. “If you need to borrow the room…”

“With Renata?” I ask, horrified. “Are you kidding?”

“Or by yourself.”

I shake my head, rolling my eyes. “I’m done with this conversation.”

The girls crowd into the room to inspect the results of our work. Renata looks refreshed from her nap and I briefly offer up a silent prayer that she didn’t overhear Scott’s innuendo or my response.

“With just one room, they may not make a big deal out of it,” Scott says. “But if we need to talk about anything private, we do it here. You never know who’s watchin’ out there.”

“Good,” Rachel says approvingly. “We can’t give up now.”

“No,” I say. “But we do need these people to think we are.”

“God, it pisses me off,” Scott says, his voice unusually high. “They all sit there and think it’s okay to do this to us. First the sheriff. Now these guys. No one has a problem with it. They all think the ends justify the means. That science is more important than we are.”

“Not all of them,” Renata says. “Watch their eyes, Scott. We’re not alone.”

“I could give a fuck about their eyes,” Scott retorts. “Watch their actions, Renata. We don’t have friends here.”

“You know what we do have?” Rachel asks. “Cable.”

We wind up in the living room, where we portion out plates of leftover pasta and open a second bottle of wine and decide to watch the next movie we find starting on TV, which happens to be _The Social Network_. I can’t believe they made a movie about Facebook.

I spend half the movie trying to remember my Facebook password. I had an account, years ago. I wonder what’s happened to it. My profile picture was my away jersey folded neatly in my locker in Pershing Stadium. I feel a pang at the memory and all the promise it represented, promises I never got to fulfill and never will. I remember filling out the prompt twice a day, broadcasting my activities to half the Pershing students, who had all added me as a friend because of my notoriety. I always accepted every friend request. I wonder if any of them ever think about me now that my profile has been silent for so many years.

 _Homer Roberts is…_  

Could we get internet access here? Maybe. No doubt it would be monitored, though. Any fantasy I have about contacting OA without them seeing is just that. Fantasy. How can I get to her without them? They’ll expect me to run to her right away.

_Homer Roberts is overwhelmed._

Scott tells us he's never heard of Facebook, which reminds me how much longer he was down there than I was. I feel like I missed an eternity of life, but he missed more.

_Homer Roberts is sad._

Scott isn’t even sure what year it was when he was taken. I’ve never wanted to admit it to him, but that always breaks my heart.

_Homer Roberts is still a captive._

I make a promise to myself, to try and access my Facebook account again someday. I fantasize about what the response will be when I finally update my status.

_Homer Roberts is alive again._

Or maybe not. Maybe I want to play it under the radar. I need to focus on something else.

I glance over at Rachel and Scott. She’s tucked comfortably in his arms and is starting to doze off. She’s going to miss the end of the movie, but I don’t think she cares. He looks perfectly content about the situation as well. I notice him absently stroking her arm. I feel a twinge of emotion somewhere inside me that I can’t quite place.

_Homer Roberts is in a relationship._

The futility of it all hits me near the end of the movie. Something about the main character’s frustrating pursuit of companionship in the middle of his success resonates with me. Maybe because it’s the first movie I’ve gotten to watch in years, but that’s beside the point.

I’m chasing something I’m never going to catch - at least, not the way I’m trying. I’m not going to get to her by walking out the door, or searching on the internet. They have us on complete lockdown in all directions. I’m completely trapped. Anything I could think of, they’ve thought of first. This is not a quest I can hide by putting aluminum foil over a camera.

I have to think of something else. Something outside their control. Something beyond their understanding.

To find her, I have to think like her.

I have to look inside.

I fall asleep that night clutching the thin braid from my pocket.

_Homer Roberts is on a mission._


	6. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homer has a series of meetings at the agency and begins to get answers to some of his questions, but not all of the answers are good ones. Meanwhile, Rachel and Scott navigate new territory in their relationship, and Scott gets a new look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn't already obvious, this story is partially inspired by the great fan speculation from the OA subreddit at r/TheOA, as well as the Tumblr OA fan community. This chapter in particular owes a big debt to the work of Robert Lanza and his theories of biocentrism, which I first learned about at r/TheOA. If you haven't been on the subreddit to read the rich and complex fan speculation about this universe, check it out!

The next morning, I’m awakened by raised voices and a faint but stomach-churning scent of familiar cigarettes.

I’m staring at the wall. I must have slept curled up next to it out of habit. I twist over in the bed to look around my room. I’m alone. The noise and the smell aren’t in the room with me. I glance past the small camera mounted on the ceiling and spot an air vent. I crane my neck slightly. That’s the source of the sound, and probably the smell. If I don’t move, I can understand what’s being said.

One of the voices is Hap’s.

“I don’t know why you think she’s so important. That isn’t what my research suggests at all.”

I close my eyes again, conscious of the camera trained on me. They might be watching. Would Hap have picked up on my moment of alertness? Would they realize the sound carries between the apartments? Maybe it doesn’t carry for everyone. Maybe it’s my sensitive hearing, highly attuned after so many years in near silence.

“I understand. We have to assess her ourselves.”

“How?”

“Leave that up to us.”

“Just how connected are you people?”

“We found you, didn’t we? By the way, you have a meeting with Mr. Roberts today.”

“I do? What for?" 

“He has questions for you about the experiment.”

“Questions? He’s been there all along.”

“Humor us, Dr. Percy. That’s an order. Tell him whatever he wants to know. That’s part of the deal if we’re going to move forward with this together.”

This is new. This is something I’m not used to seeing. Hap is on the defensive. He’s not in control anymore. Someone else is telling him what to do with me. Someone else is _making_ him acknowledge me. Someone who sought him out for this. I’m not sure whether to be pleased or unsettled by this development.

The sounds fade away, and a few minutes later, I hear the doorbell at the front of the apartment. I stumble out of bed, trying to act like I just woke up, and slide out to the main room where Rachel is opening the door to reveal Miguel holding a catered assortment of a dozen assorted bagels, cream cheese, and coffee.

I help Rachel set it out on the counter and we manage to get the toaster working. The toasted bagels are incredible. I devour a cinnamon raisin bagel and an egg bagel, each slathered in cream cheese, and feel stuffed. 

After we clean up from breakfast, the four of us work together to push the furniture in the living area out of the way, for one of the best morning classes we’ve ever been able to do. Even Scott willingly participates today without complaint. I’m pretty sure he got laid again last night, based on the rare satisfaction I glimpse in his eyes. Rachel’s, too.

After Renata’s yoga class, we slide all the furniture into a pile in the middle of the room and craft a jogging path that leads us through the entire apartment, twisting through both sets of bedrooms, through the bathrooms, circling through the kitchen and living area, and back again. We then spend a few minutes jogging laps through the apartment. The familiar old rush of pumping blood, stretching my legs just long enough to sprint down the hall before curving into the bedrooms, feels incredibly good to me. It was impossible to do this in our cells in the lab. My legs feel stiff and rubbery after years of neglect, and my calves feel tight, but I know it will come back to me. Rachel and Renata somehow get into a foot race that ends with them collapsing together in Renata’s bedroom, laughing at their exertion.

When we’ve all just about exhausted ourselves, we gather together in the living room for the movements. Just like before, they don’t do much of anything for us today, but it’s good practice anyway. As we cycle through them I’m on alert for what I felt the other day, for any sign I’m close to her, but I don’t feel anything, which only makes me more certain of what I felt. It _wasn’t_ wishful thinking or my imagination. I touched her somehow.

I just wish I knew how I did it, so I could do it again. I need her, and I need her soon.

Jeremy arrives shortly afterwards with bags of brand-new clothes and supplies for each of us. He must have been watching through the cameras, waiting for us to finish our morning workout, which is why I’m subtly dismissive of him as he settles in our living room to brief us on the day. All four of us are lined up in a row on the couch, digging through our bags.

“You each will have a few appointments today,” he explains. “You need complete physicals-“

“Um, excuse me? You just took three vials of blood from me,” Scott interrupts. “What else is there?”

“That was to confirm a few things,” Jeremy continues patiently. “Today we want to investigate your health more thoroughly. All of you.” Scott rolls his eyes but says nothing, which for him is about as close as I expect to consent. “Also, Homer, the meeting with Hap that you requested will be after lunch.”

I glance around. “Okay. Who’s gonna join me?”

“You have fun with that,” Scott mutters under his breath.

I take a deep breath and am about to respond to him when Rachel jumps in.

“I will,” she says boldly.

I look over at her in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” she says, even as Scott stares at her.

“In that case,” Jeremy says, “Homer and Rachel, you’ve got the busiest agenda, so why don’t you guys get cleaned up, and we’ll get you in first for your physicals?”

My bag contains a pack of basic travel toiletries, and after a quick but refreshing shower, I dig through the clothing and finally select a plain gray t-shirt and black track pants. There’s also a pair of yellow flip-flops that make me think of a beach trip my family took when I was a kid. I fold my old rags from the lab and set them carefully in the small closet in my room. I slap on some of the travel deodorant and brush my teeth. As I’m brushing, I pause at the bathroom door. I can hear raised voices on the other side, in Scott’s room. I take a step back and stay where I am to listen.

"-hell you thinking? You said we should stay as far away from him as we can."

"Sure, I want to. But I can’t let Homer go alone."

"He's a grown-ass man. He'll be fine."

"What is wrong with you? Why do you care so much what I do?"

There's a pause, then I hear, in a softer, more plaintive voice: "I don't want you near him."

Rachel’s voice softens, too. "You’re sweet. But I'm a grown-ass woman, and I make my own decisions.”

"You don't have to. Please. I can't stop Homer, but-"

"You can't stop me, either. Just cause we slept together a couple times now, suddenly you want to tell me what to do?" I wince but stay silent.

"That is _not_ what I said."

"Then what's your problem? What are you afraid of?"

"Everything, okay?" He bursts out. "Everything about him still scares the shit out of me."

His words fill me with a sharp realization. Scott has always been more scared than the rest of us. It was one thing when he was sick and expected to die someday soon, but even after he recovered… he was _there_ so much longer than the rest of us.

Scott knew others who died before we came, others he’s never said very much about. He still has the memory of looking Hap in the eyes while he was dying a death that should have been final.

For all the fear I have of that man, I've found ways to defy him over the years and maintain my sense of self. Scott hasn't.

There's a long silence, then finally she speaks. "You can come with us."

"No. I can't.” His tone is full of regret. 

"You couldn't protect me even if you were there," she reminds him softly.

"I know that," he says. "But at least I wouldn't be sitting here scared for you the whole time. Like a fucking coward."

"Nothing's going to happen," she says. "This is a talk. Only words. There'll be guards and stuff. He's not going to try anything.

"Rachel," he says impatiently. "You're tryin’ to use logic and I'm tryin’ to tell you. I'm not logical about this. I don't want you to go. Don’t make me justify it. Okay? Please."

I finally decide that this is a good moment to enter the conversation and open the bathroom door. They both look up at me, startled. "I'll take care of her, Scott.” I lean back against the frame and fold my arms. "I’ll make sure he doesn’t touch her. I'll do it for you, okay?"

He looks back and forth between us. He's not convinced, and I realize suddenly, now that I can see his eyes, that some of this is about me, too. Which seems stupid, since we're all on the same side, but like he said, he's not being logical right now, just emotional. Emotionally, he knows that Rachel and I share something he isn't privy to either, and he doesn’t want us strengthening that. 

"By the way," she says, apparently sensing the same thing. "I'd appreciate it if you boys would stop fighting over taking care of me, like I'm some damsel in distress who can't take care of myself."

"Shit," I say. "I thought the point of this was you taking care of me in the first place."

"Exactly."

"Look," I say to both of them, with a more serious tone. "We've all taken care of each other this long. Nothing’s changing now. Even if a lot of things are, you know, changing." I glance back and forth between them at that. "We have him at a disadvantage. We never had that before. It won’t get us out of here, but it's gonna get us food, and clothes, and a decent place to sleep for now. I'm only gonna borrow her for a bit so we can get more information. I promise, I'll bring her back to you in one piece. Okay?"

Scott sighs deeply and shakes his head. "She's free to do what she wants.”

“If it means that much to you-“

“No,” he says. “Go. Just get back here in one piece. Both of ya.”

I feel strangely human as I emerge back into the living room, clean and refreshed and wearing brand-new clothing. Jeremy is sitting there waiting for me. I hope he didn’t overhear Rachel and Scott’s fight. 

He stands. “Great. Homer, your physical is up first. Come with me.”

The small medical clinic downstairs almost feels like a real doctor’s office. I try not to wince as they take my blood. They also register my height and weight. The nurse asks me to change into a paper garment and when the doctor comes in, he spends a long time silently examining my scarred back.

“He did this to you?” the doctor finally asks.

“No,” I say, surprised that he doesn’t already know the answer. “I did it to myself.”

“Why?” he asks, and I can see he’s unable to prevent himself from asking the question.

I give him a withering look. “You didn’t read my lab files yet, did you?”

He takes his cue and shuts up about it.

“Tell me a little more about your head injuries,” he says instead.

I shrug. “I played football. I got concussions. Nothing new.”

“I know you were in a coma.”

“That was a long time ago. We all had near death experiences. Kinda goes with the territory.”

“What happened to you in Cuba?”

I don’t know how to answer that, so I just stare at him.

“You had another head injury there?” he asks. “Dr. Percy’s records say he treated you for it there.”

“Oh,” I say. Right, that. Of course. “Yeah, I guess.”

He squints at me. “I’d like to see if we can set up an MRI for you. It would mean going offsite, but I think we can make arrangements.” Again, all I can do is shrug. It’s not up to me. I’m just the subject. Offsite sounds good to me, though.

I’m finally excused to change back into the t-shirt and track pants. I toss the paper gown into the trashcan in the exam room and I’m marched off to my next appointment, in Jeremy’s office.

“Homer. I have some updates for you,” he says as soon as I sit down. “Our research folks have been hard at work to get you some of the information we promised.”

I’ve got to brace myself for what’s coming. I stiffen my hands and set my jaw as I sit down across from him.

What’s coming is a folder he slides across the table to me.

“Before you open it,” he says, “I want you to know that there is upsetting information in there.”

I’m ready for this. Ignoring him, I swing the cover open to start reading.

Here’s what I find out.

First: There’s nothing about the baby.

I look back up at him. “What the hell?” I demand. I’ve been waiting years to find out something about my kid. I expected anything but this.

“We can’t find any record of an Amanda Thompson at Pershing College, at least not when you were there.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t,” I say. “Mandy didn’t go to Pershing. She was a waitress. She worked at Flannery Sports Bar, about a mile off campus.” She was a huge fan of Pershing’s football program, she and her friends had season tickets, but she never took classes with us. I push the details out of my mind, because that’s not what’s important. What’s important is finding her and finding her kid. My kid.

“It’s a common name. We can’t find any contemporaneous birth records from Missouri that match, or that list you as a father.”

“So she didn’t list me as the father,” I say, my voice rising with irritation. “That’s the whole reason I got into this mess in the first place. She told me she didn’t want me involved. All right? Fuck the paperwork. I’m still the father, whether she named me or not. She’s out there, somewhere, with _my_ kid. You people have money and resources. Can’t you find her?”

“Do you know anything else about her?” he presses.

“Yeah,” I say. “Her dad’s name was David? No, Daniel.”

“Where did he live?”

I open my mouth and then close it. I don’t know. I never did know.

“We’ll see what we can do,” he says. “We have an investigator, I’ll give them the additional details.”

There’s nothing more for me to do, except keep turning pages. The next part must be what he warned me about.

My mother is dead.

Breast cancer. Four years ago. I’ll never see her again – at least, not in this life. I scan the obituary, trying to keep my hands from shaking. “Beloved mother of Homer.” So vague. I realize that they probably couldn’t figure out whether to list me as surviving or preceding her in death and just decided to say nothing about it at all.

I turn another page quickly. I can’t even think about it.

My father moved. He went back to New Jersey. It makes sense. There wouldn’t be anything left for him in Missouri. His wife is gone. His son ran away. He has relatives in New Jersey. The house I grew up in, the old farm I played on – it all belongs to someone else now. 

I can’t go home. Not anymore. There’s no home to go back to. Not here. Not for me.

I close the folder.

“I need to see my dad,” I say, trying to cover the hoarseness in my voice.

“Not now,” Jeremy says. “One year.”

“He needs to know I’m still alive.” I lean forward, my fingers gripping the folder.

“If you behave, we can see about letting you contact him in a few months.”

_A few months._ So much can happen in a few months. Is any of this worth it? What good is cooperating? I suck in a deep breath. I’m not ready to accept this yet.

“By the way,” he says. “There’s one more page in there. I think you missed it.”

What else is there to learn about other than my dad? I thumb the folder back open. Jeremy is right. There’s one more article.

He returns me to the apartment for lunch. I start for the fridge, clutching the folder in my arms, and then stop dead in my tracks as I see Scott emerge from his room. At least, I think it’s Scott. It’s a little hard to tell.

“Dude,” I say, astonished. “What happened?”

“What?” he asks innocently.

“Hot date or something?”

“So I shaved,” he says. “Big deal.”

“Get in here,” I say, motioning him back into his room away from the cameras. He closes the door halfway.

I open the folder to show him the last article.

“Shit, man,” Scott says, skimming over the page. “Missouri?” he asks, continuing to read. “The hell was she doing in Missouri?” I realize he hadn’t heard that part of the news report yesterday. 

“She didn’t go to her family first,” I explain quietly. I had put all of this together yesterday. “They’re in Michigan. She was looking for mine. That’s the only reason she’d be anywhere near Missouri.”

“But she’s home now. That’s what matters.”

I lean over, peering at her picture again. She’s terrified in the picture, I can see it in her eyes, in the way she’s shying away from the photographer. She’s overwhelmed. I’ve never seen her like this, the OA I know is usually brave and serene. At times I’ve seen her upset, defeated, or beaten down. I’ve never seen her lose her spirit. But this woman looks like the mentally ill runaway they must have expected, the Jane Doe who tried to kill herself and was discovered to be a formerly blind missing person. They have no idea what she’s been through. They have no idea what she’s survived. 

They don’t understand her at all. They’re forcing her into a world she doesn’t want.

I read over the article again. Nothing about us. No mention of her reporting the other captives she left behind. No reference to being in love with a missing man she needs to rescue. No, Prairie Johnson, Michigan Miracle, is refusing to say anything about where she spent the last seven years or how she got her sight back, to the chagrin of the reporters and the FBI. 

Intellectually, I get it. It makes sense. No one would believe her at this point. She has no proof, and she wouldn’t have any useful information for them. There’s nothing she can do for us by talking to the media. Still, part of me feels pained. Why not at least try to tell them something? Why not try to help us? She’s giving up too easily. She’s back in the real world, and she’s leaving us behind. Maybe she’s frightened that Hap will hurt us if she tries to have us rescued. Or does she assume we’ve already crossed over?

I’m happy for her, but… a small part of me can’t help but feel betrayed.

The meeting with Hap doesn’t have a start time, and Rachel seems to still be at her appointments, so once I’ve heated up some leftovers for lunch, I retire to my room, close the door, and open to the picture of OA. I set it on the bed and stand in front of it, stretching gently before launching into the movements. I want to look at her while I move. I know I’m on camera, but I don’t mind them seeing that I’m doing the movements on my own. I need to move. I’m still not sure how I get to her, but I know I won’t get there by sitting still.

I can almost feel her reaching out to me. Not the picture. Somewhere else. She’s thinking of me, somewhere. I know it. Even if she’s not saying anything publicly, I know she wouldn’t forget me. I _know_ her.

When she spoke to me from the next cell, she opened up a new world full of promises. She talked to me about her fantastical past and her incredible ideas, and my mind was allowed to forget, even if just for a little while, about the hell we were trapped in. She made it possible to let go and dream, not just when I was sleeping, but when I was awake. She made my existence have meaning again. When I talked to her, I could let go of my fear and my sadness and find comfort in the simple pleasure of connecting with another soul. She understood me, she _knew_ me, she loved me for my weirdness, and I understood her and all her quirks. More than that, she needed me. I was the only one who could calm her anxious moods, who could focus her brain, who could turn her tears into laughter. And being needed by her made me someone who remembered that I deserved _more_ than just the cold basement and thin cot that I had.

Now she’s gone, far away from me, back in a normal life. No one can find my kid, my mom is dead, I don’t know who I am anymore without her, and I don’t know what I deserve now. 

“OA,” I whisper to her scared face in the picture, knowing my back is to the camera. I stop the movements. “I’m not giving up. I know you’re afraid. You don’t know what to say, or how to say it. And you don’t know they’re coming for you. But they don’t know I’m going to find you first, somehow-”

The doorbell sounds. I drop my arms and slide my feet back into the cheap yellow flip-flops before heading out to answer it. Lou is standing there with Rachel.

It’s time.

Lou leads us up one flight of stairs to another dormitory apartment not far from ours. So Hap gets housing here, too. I should have assumed he would.

Hap opens the door, his pale eyes looking us over coolly. He isn’t surprised to see us. “Homer. Rachel. Come in.” She and I exchange a look, and share a brief moment of resolve before we step across his doorway willingly.

The place carries the hauntingly familiar, stomach-churning strong scent of his stale cigarettes. My hand drifts to my nose automatically to block it. The smell takes me back to the overwhelming sense of fear that would envelop me every time I caught a whiff of it in the mine. It sets my entire body on edge. I hate that smell.

Aside from the stench, his one-bedroom setup isn’t that different from ours, just smaller. After years of being treated like something he stepped in, finally we’re on a little more of a level playing field. It gives me confidence and reminds me that while we may still be prisoners, we’re no longer his.

Then I realize why I’ve been hearing and smelling him through the vent. His bedroom is right above mine. When I sleep at night, I’m sleeping just a few feet away from him.

I feel sick to my stomach again.

The goon settles down in the living room and Hap motions for us to sit at his kitchen table. After a moment, I do, as much as I’m reluctant to do anything he asks. Rachel follows. She inches her chair closer to me, away from Hap. I lower my hand from my nose and try to breathe through my mouth so I won’t smell his cigarettes.

“So,” Hap says to Rachel. “You and Scott, huh? Really didn’t see that one coming.”

“Go to hell, Hap.” Rachel folds her arms.

“So. You’re settling in all right?” he asks politely. His casual tone disgusts me. He doesn’t have the right.

“Yeah,” I say, drawling my words out for emphasis. “They’re actually treating us like human beings here. It’s a nice change.”

“I’m not here to defend myself to you,” he warns.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” I retort. “Anyway, I thought we asked for this meeting. Not you.”

“You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t agree.”

So it’s going to be like that. I regard him with a long, cool stare.

Rachel cuts in. “Why did you bring us here, if you knew they were going to take over?”

“Yeah,” I echo, my voice even. “It’s not like you to give up control.”

“Because I had exhausted any other options,” Hap says, without emotion. “The agency has been underwriting my work for years. I never wanted to have to do this, but they were always the fallback plan if we had to.”

_We._ The word itself is offensive, but I let it slide, because another question has popped into my mind. “Does the President know about this?” I ask.

“Of the United States?” Hap rolls his eyes. “It’s not that kind of agency.”

“Oh.” I kind of could have guessed that, but it’s interesting to confirm.

“We wouldn’t have had to come here if we’d been able to cross in the first place, but now, we’ll get to keep trying. The work is important, and now, the work will continue.”

“Is it really only about the work with you?” I ask. “That’s all it ever was.”

“What else is there? I’ve given up my life for this research,” he says.

“So have we!” I snap at him, gesturing at Rachel. “Except you got a choice. We didn’t.” I catch myself and lower my voice. “Do you know what they told me this morning? They can’t find my kid and my mother is dead.” Rachel’s head shoots up at that and I have to look away, because I can’t stand to see her look of sympathy right now.

“You’re lucky you had anything worth mourning.”

“Shut up, Hap.” I’m surprised by my own words. How long have I wanted to say that to him, though, and I never could? “We’re not interested in your sob stories. My mom died thinking I gave up on my family. I never got to say goodbye. So I want you to tell me why.”

He sniffs. “You know perfectly well what this is about.”

“Do I? You weren’t exactly forthcoming." 

“You were fairly resourceful at figuring it out on your own.”

I shiver slightly at the memory of being conscious in his drowning machine, watching him coolly pressing buttons, waiting for me to die so he could get his precious data. The sheer terror I felt realizing that I was trapped, that there wasn’t going to be any more air for me, and that this had happened before and would keep happening, over and over again. _Resourceful._

I shake my head just to clear it. “All you ever did was take from us. Now I want you to give us something. I want to know what we were doing.”

“That’s it?” he asks, surprised. “You want the theory behind the work?”

“We want to know what the hell you were looking for,” Rachel says.

“Okay,” he says at last. “Fine. Let’s start with the basics.” He puts his hand on the table. “Here. Touch this.”

I give him a weird look, but there’s no point in refusing, so I put my palm on the table. Rachel copies me.

“What did you feel?”

“Wood,” Rachel says. I drop my hand back in my lap.

He nods. Apparently, this is the right answer. “And where did you feel it?”

“Right there,” she says, gesturing at the table.

“Ah.” He holds up a finger. “Did you really?”

She squints at him. “The table is still there.” She gestures at it.

“But where did you really feel the touch?” he asks. “Your brain says it was down there, but really, what you’re feeling is sensation traveling up and hitting your neurons. You feel the touch up here.” He taps his head. “Everything we see, everything we feel. It’s here! The real touch is in your brain, where you interpret the data you’ve received. The only thing that’s real is your perception of it. And that takes place far from the location where you think the touch happened. This is a fundamental principle of biocentrism.”

My brain is spinning to process what he’s telling her. In a way, what he’s saying makes sense. It’s the reason why even though it’s only been a couple of weeks since I last saw OA, the person I spent nearly every waking minute with for years, she feels so distant to me. I never knew her by touch until that one last, bitter and painful moment. Is she real? Is she not real? Until I can experience her fully, I can’t even say for sure. Reflexively, I slip my hand into my pocket and finger the tiny braid. I _can_ experience that. She’s still in my world. She’s real, she’s somewhere. He’s still talking.

“But what does this have to do with your experiments?” Rachel is asking. “Does biocentrism say that we’re only real because you observed us for years?”

He smirks, and I don’t like it. He’s trying to engage us, trying to be friendly, but he hasn’t earned it. “You’re not that far off, actually, once you bring quantum mechanics into it.”

“And are we? Bringing quantum mechanics into it?” I ask, glancing at Rachel. I’m not sure that I follow yet, but some things are starting to make more sense.

“Eventually,” he says. “Yes. According to this theory, space and time are not in fact external constants. They’re concepts which exist internally, in our neurons and our consciousness.”

Now my brain is really spinning. “But… they have observable qualities. Consistent ones.”

“Yes. You can observe them. But where does the observation really take place?”

I hesitate, thinking back to the table. I think I get it, but I don’t want to give him any more validation.

“This is the foundation of our work. It’s actually important that you understand what I’m saying. I think that once you understand more about what we’ve been doing, you might be able to help advance the work farther than we ever expected. You are not a typical research subject, Homer. You are an explorer.”

I feel another chill at his words. OA used to say that. I stare at him. “Explorer to where?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” He seems excited now. “Do you understand that space and time are not the concrete, easily observed concepts that you were taught in school?” he asks. “They exist because our consciousness creates them, and my more recent work is based on the theory that when our bodies become inhospitable due to death, our consciousness can travel in ways we wouldn’t otherwise think are possible. Whenever you have a near-death experience, you bend reality. The movements you all discovered, they’re the first demonstrable way to bend that reality without ending in permanent death.”

Rachel speaks up. “So when we heal someone, we create reality by somehow channeling another dimension into our existence, and then bending it to our will.”

“Well. That’s one way of looking at it,” he agrees. “Don’t you see? You’re even more special than you realized. You aren’t just bringing back the dead. It’s far more than that. You’re controlling space and time by _belief_. You know how to open dimensional tunnels with your bodies and your minds. You’re the first human beings we can document who have achieved that. If we can prove it, if we can reproduce your abilities in the laboratory to the satisfaction of the scientific community, you will change the way we think about quantum mechanics forever. You will be legends in any dimension where we can reveal this knowledge.”

I swallow, hard.

“I don’t want to be a legend,” I say quietly. “I just want to survive this.”

“You would.” He doesn’t sound impressed. “And you will, one way or another. Your consciousness, the thing that travels, is really rooted in energy. Energy doesn’t die. It just changes form. Your particular energy has traveled and returned to your body, time and again. Your existence is looser, more advanced, because of the flexibility of your consciousness. In a way, you could say that what we did exercised it. And that’s what makes you what she called angels. Because you do travel on high with the gods before you return to earth. Very few are able to do that.”

My mind is spinning. I’m finally starting to understand what OA was talking about, what we’ve been tapping into this whole time. It’s far more daunting than I thought. It’s not just about an afterlife or a mystical energy. It’s about the very edges of reality and all that can be known.

“Do you see now?” he asks, studying my face closely for any sign of the result. “What we’ve all devoted our lives to?”

“I’ll never say it was worth it.” I raise my chin defiantly.

“This is more than a single life, Homer. This is about cracking the nature of existence for the first time. For the entire human race.” He lets the words hang in the air for a long silence. “ _That’s_ what you’ve given your life for.”

“And that’s why no one’s going to let us go now.” I press my lips together.

“You’ll continue the work to the point that we can reveal it to the world, and we’re all going to document together what you can do.”

“So all we have to do is forget how we ended up here in the first place,” I say, gritting my teeth. Forget how he treated OA like something that existed to serve him instead of someone who deserved love. Forget how he ripped her away from my kiss at gunpoint and cast her aside like his used garbage. That’s the cost of his research. That’s the debris left behind by his precious discovery.

“Give it time,” Hap says. “You’ll forget what it took to get here eventually.”

I try to resist the urge to punch him, even though I know that it would make Rachel proud. Instead, my fist closes around the braid in my pocket. “None of us will ever forget being treated like animals by you.”

“Once we master inter-dimensional travel, you probably will. You know that amnesia is a side effect.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “We knew that,” I say. “How did you?”

“I think that’s enough for today. I suspect your bitterness will subside and your curiosity will win out, but I’m willing to wait for you to get there.”

As much as he might be right, I’ll never admit it. 

“Get used to waiting,” I spit at him. “We have a lot of forgetting to do first.”

I push my chair back and leap to my feet. I still have questions, so many questions, but I know if I keep talking to him, I’ll do something I’ll regret. And I can’t break my vow to the others. Not now. Hap isn’t worth it. Instead, I turn around and storm out of the apartment, Rachel and the goon on my heels. It's the best I can do for a dramatic exit, but it'll have to do for now. 


	7. Connecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel questions her purpose, the captives frolic, Renata gains a new friend, and Homer gets an unlikely opportunity to make an unexpected connection.

When we return to the apartment, it’s empty. Scott and Renata must be at their appointments. Rachel heads straight for the fridge as the door locks behind us and retrieves a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream from the freezer.

“We have ice cream now?” I ask, interested. "When did we get ice cream?"

She doesn’t say a word, but spins over to the drawer where she produces two spoons, holding them up.

“It’s true, you really are an angel,” I gasp, sliding into a seat at the table. She sits down across from me and hands me a spoon before opening the carton.

“Did you notice how he spent that whole meeting talking to you?” she asks, digging in her spoon.

I shrug. I hadn’t, actually. “Probably cause I’m the one who asked for the meeting.”

“No,” she says. “It’s because he thinks I’m stupid.”

I wrinkle my nose at her. “Since when do you care what he thinks?” I ask, reaching for my first bite of ice cream in several years. It doesn’t disappoint. “Oh my god.” I take a moment to savor it before continuing. I had forgotten how amazing ice cream was. My fingers on the spoon are shaky, but I’m not letting go. “He never thought we deserved real toilets. Don’t base your self worth on Hap, okay? Please.”

“It’s true, though,” Rachel says. “I barely understand this stuff. Not like you.”

“Don’t say that,” I shake my head at her and move for another bite of the ice cream. “You’re not stupid.”

“Then why am I the only one who never got a movement?”

I set my spoon down. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“I mean, what am I doing here? We had five movements to discover, and there were five of us. OA got a movement. So did you. Then Scott and Renata got their movements. I always thought I was supposed to get the fifth. I always thought it was up to me.”

I don’t want to tell her that I thought so, too. We all did. “That’s cause Evelyn had it all along. We didn’t know that.”

“Right. So what’s my purpose?”

“I mean… there’s more to it than finding movements. We have to perform them, too.”

“Sure. But fucking Hap can perform the movements.”

She’s got me there. “Rachel, I refuse to believe you don’t have a purpose. We know five of us were necessary. We just didn’t know why. I guess we still don’t.”

Her spoon hovers over the ice cream carton. “I feel like my purpose is right in front of me, but I can’t see it.”

“Seriously?” I ask, sitting back. “That’s exactly what OA said to me when she got the first movement.”

“Really?” she asks, brightening a bit. “When Hap was talking about bending reality...” She shakes her head. “Homer, I don’t have words for it, but I _know_. I think I understand.” She lowers her voice and leans in closer to me, an intense look on her face. “I have to bend reality.” She pauses for emphasis. “Me.”

“Not a bad idea,” I say. “I can think of a lot of things worth bending right now. I mean, if you can figure out a way.” I stop eating and stare at her. “Rachel, is there a way?”

“I don’t know! I feel so close. I think I understand it now, after talking to Hap, how my thoughts could maybe do it, but… I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do." 

“I sort of get what he was saying,” I say slowly. “It’s like when I used to watch St. Louis Cardinals games on TV. I was convinced that the shirt I wore, or whether or not I washed my socks would influence the game. How could it? I was just a kid halfway across the state. There’s no way it could matter. But I really believed I was bending reality with what I did. You know? I thought my existence and my decisions could change an outcome far away. Maybe if Hap’s theory is right, who knows.”

“Weren’t you superstitious when you played football, too?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, giving her a weird look. “But when you’re actually in the game, it’s not crazy to think you can affect it.” Something occurs to me suddenly. “Do you remember the other day in the lab?” I ask. “Did you feel OA then?” She nods slightly. “I did, too. Could you have been bending reality?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” she says. “I was thinking about her. Thinking about the night you guys saved Scott.” She licks her spoon again. “Do you remember what you were thinking that night, right before it happened?”

Everything about that night is burned onto my memory forever. “Yeah, I mean… I was upset. Like, really upset. At myself, at Hap, at the universe, at all of it. And I kept thinking how I wanted everything to be different. I wanted to undo it all. But most of all, I wanted him to be alive and healthy, anything but lying dead on the ground in front of us. I wanted it so bad. Like nothing I’ve ever wanted before. And then it just… happened.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I understand.”

I duck my head, trying to make sure the cameras can’t see my lips. “I hope you do. We have to find a way to get to her. Can you do it?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “But I’ll start trying.”

“I know it sounds crazy,” I say. “But, Rachel… I think you might be our best chance.” I lick my spoon and straighten up, letting the cameras see I’m not being too shady. “So. Everything good with you and Scott?"

"Homer..." she says with a warning tone.

I stick my hands up in surrender, my spoon sticking straight up in the air. "Not meddling. Just a… concerned friend.”

"It's weird, you know,” she says, digging absently at the ice cream. “I always thought of him like a little brother. You, too. I didn't know he had... feelings. And now I guess I'm realizing maybe I kind of did, too. But neither of us really knows where to go with that?"

I laugh a little. "I always thought OA and I were the odd couple around here. But you guys have us beat."

"Is it because we don't have options, Homer? Are we each others' last resort?"

"Don't think of it like that," I say. "It can't be about that. It's about what's between you and him and whether it's real. That's all that matters. That’s what I used to tell OA."

"Renata would sleep with you again, you know," she says. "In a heartbeat."

I drop my spoon and stare at her in shock. "What? No."

"Just saying."

"Rachel..." I shake my head to clear it. "We've been down that road, remember?"

"Kinda hard to forget. But things are different now," she says. "And, I mean, what else are you two going to do?"

"I'm not giving up," I say, astonished. "This isn’t about getting some warm body in bed. OA is more than that. She’s part of me now. I don’t have other options anymore, not as long as I know she’s out there. I failed her one time, and I'm not doing it again."

"Renata will be sorry to hear that."

"Well, that's her problem!" 

Rachel sighs. "But I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not giving up on OA, either. Especially if you're not." She shrugs. "I'm just checking."

"Oh, holy hell," I say, picking up my spoon again and reaching for the ice cream. "I hate you so much right now."

Rachel allows herself a small grin at that. "Seriously, though," she says. "It’s hard on her, you know, especially with me and Scott now. She has to watch everyone else pairing off like we’re on Noah's Ark."

"She’s had her share of coupling in her life," I remind her. 

"Exactly," Rachel says. "And now she's condemned to be alone. So are you, at least for now."

"Sleeping with me got her into this mess in the first place," I point out. "Condemned or not, I'm, like, the last person she's interested in."

"That's really not true," she says slowly. "But can we at least agree to keep an eye out for her, and make sure she’s okay?"

"Of course," I say. I hesitate, not sure whether to tell Rachel the truth. "It would be easy for me to say yes. To her, I mean.” Too easy. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t remember how amazing it felt to make love to her. I’ll never admit to Rachel that sometimes still when I look at Renata, I remember the incredible sensation of my flesh sliding against hers, warm fulfillment after years of cold denial. That’s private, and it’s going to stay that way.

"You avoid her sometimes."

I nod slowly, swallowing another bite of ice cream. I hadn’t realized it was that obvious. "Too much pain for everyone the first time. I’m not letting it happen again."

“We may have a little more space here, but these things will still be heightened,” she warns me. “Just remember that when you’re around her.”

“I mean, I still care about her,” I insist. “Same way I care about you, or Scott. We’re all family. It’s just… I have to keep my guard up.”

We’re interrupted by the door opening. Scott and Renata are both there with the goons. “Yard time,” Lou says.

In a flash, the ice cream is back in the freezer and we’re out the door. I’m a little worried that the goons will think we’re trying to escape based on how quickly all four of us are stampeding through the corridor, but we aren’t. At least, not like this.

For now, we just want a different kind of freedom.

Open air.

There’s a steady rain coming down when we emerge into the courtyard, and the air is slightly chilly. I see the goons move back to the door, as if outdoor time is about to be canceled on account of the weather. Fat chance.

With a shout, I sprint into the grassy area ahead of the others, kicking off my flip flops and hollering as I splash through the cold, wet, wonderful mud in the overcast daylight.

Rachel is the first to follow me, shrieking with laughter and shoving me down playfully. I roll on my back, smelling the sweet smell of grass and dirt as the rain pelts my face, soaking me, delighting me. 

Someone goes splashing by me. It’s Scott, kicking mud everywhere. I reach out with my hand and splash at the puddle next to me, sending muddy water back at him, before climbing to my feet, now dripping wet and freezing, but happier than I’ve been in a long time.

Renata is last, more delicate than the rest of us, but still, her smile lights up her face as she moves through the yard, palms up, cringing at the cold water but still grinning from ear to ear at the feel of wind and rain.

I struggle to my feet and fold my arms against the cold, shivering in my soaked clothes. I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and smile at the sky as it pelts my face with more water. The weather doesn’t bother me. If anything, it fills my soul. I’ve done two-a-days in worse weather than this. The point is, it’s _weather_. Sky and air and freedom, or at least the illusion of it for a few minutes, like I haven’t seen in years.

I notice the goons lurking by the door under the eaves, looking irritated that they’re stuck with a bunch of crazy people frolicking in the rain and mud. I don’t feel sorry for them. They chose this line of work. They’re contributing to our captivity. We’re going to get mud all over their carpets today, and I’m pretty goddamn happy about it.

I skip across the yard, breaking into a light barefoot jog through the mud, careful to avoid Renata, who looks like she’s trying to stay somewhat clean. I reach the opposite end of the courtyard and turn around just in time to see Scott reaching for Rachel and pulling her into his arms, kissing her in the downpour in full view of the goons and anyone with a window, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I close my eyes again and turn away, reaching for the braid in my pocket.

I want them to be happy, and I know they can make each other happy. But the reality still hurts. I can’t forget what I’m missing, and how much happier I would be if she were here, frolicking in the mud with me.

She’d understand this. She’s not like some of the finicky girls I used to hook up with at Pershing who were afraid to walk off a sidewalk for fear of getting their shoes dirty. I glance over at Renata, who has taken a seat on a bench away from the mud and is staring up into the cloudy gray sky. I’ve never seen OA outdoors, but I _know_ her, she’d appreciate the cool rain and the slippery puddles and the joy of feeling free. She wouldn’t be afraid to get dirt under her fingernails or mud in her hair.

“And the rain comes,” I whisper out loud, to myself, alone. I swallow hard at the memory.

She’s more than a memory. She’s real. Somewhere. Her hair is in my hand and I can still make my way to her again someday if I try hard enough, if I figure everything out like I’m supposed to.

I feel eyes boring into me, and my gaze turns to one of the windows of the building overlooking the courtyard. I see the sky glinting off his glasses. He draws back once he realizes I’m staring at him. I raise my chin defiantly and continue to stare.

I don’t care that I’m soaking wet and covered in mud. I want him to know I’m still more than he is. I have power he’ll never have, no matter how much of my life he took away. I’ll never forget. He’ll never fully control me.

By the time Jeremy shows up in the courtyard we’re all thoroughly soaked and three of the four of us are fairly well covered in mud. The rain has subsided, but our joy hasn’t. He looks us over and is only mildly perturbed.

“I was going to surprise you with a shopping trip for supplies,” he says. “But now I’m having second thoughts.”

“We can get cleaned up pretty fast,” Scott says, looking at the rest of us. “Right, guys?”

And so less than half an hour later, after quick showers, we’re being loaded back into a van in the loading dock with the goons, except this time there are no hoods and no zip ties. Instead, each of us is handed a Target gift card pre-loaded with five hundred bucks. There’s also a goon for each of us. Renata is unusually chatty with Miguel today, who apparently is also fluent in Spanish, so none of us can understand what they’re saying.

I look at the card in my hands and it’s all I can do not to laugh. Five hundred dollars. Of all the amounts. It’s like I’m finally getting my payment for signing up for the goddamn experiment all those years ago.

When we arrive at the store, Betts turns around and addresses us in a gruff tone.

“We’re going in pairs,” he says. “Guys first, then you girls. If you want to do this again sometime, I don’t want any funny business.”

“No funny business,” I repeat obediently, which is sufficient enough for him to allow Scott and me out of the van.

I feel overwhelmed as I step into the store, assaulted by the shrieks of children and the fluorescent lights off the high ceiling. I hesitate in the entrance, looking around. I feel my breath coming quicker. It’s so loud. It’s so bright. I feel myself assaulted with smells I can’t even place, strange, fatty foods and chemicals and plastics and cleaners.

Scott breaks me out of my trance with a sharp poke.

“We doing this, or what?" 

I step aside, not sure what to say. There’s not enough air here. I inhale a sharp gasp of breath.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned. “Hey man.” He moves in front of me so the goons can’t see.

“I don’t know,” I whisper urgently. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” he says gently. “Look. I’m right here with you. I got you. Now breathe out. Deep as you can.”

He’s right, I exhale a long and deep breath, and feel some control returning to me. He puts a hand on my shoulder and his touch calms me further.

“You okay now? We don’t need them jerks seeing you like this.” He casts a glance over his shoulder in their direction.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I’m good now.” I rub my eyes and take a moment to collect myself. “Thanks dude.”

“Any time.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Follow me. It’ll come back to you.”

I take a deep breath, feeling calm returning to me, then grab a cart and follow him to the mens’ clothing section, our goons trailing behind us as they try to look inconspicuous. I don’t know if it’s possible for us to look normal. Scott keeps darting away, touching everything he sees like he hasn’t been shopping in years, because he hasn’t. I breeze through the racks, grabbing anything that looks like it would make me feel comfortable, tossing them all in the cart, trying to ignore Betts following close behind me. I bump into more than one corner. My body isn’t used to navigating space anymore. I knock a pile of shirts off a shelf and try to scoop them back up without attracting attention. Scott walks up with an armful of pants, dumps them in the cart, then checks my pile and laughs.

“You might want to try those on first,” he warns.

“Why?”

“Dunno if you’ve checked a mirror lately, but you ain’t exactly a quarterback these days. Your skinny ass is gonna drown in those.”

I take them into the dressing room and realize that he’s right. I’m much thinner than the last time I bought clothes, whenever that was. I’m going to need a smaller size.

What do you buy when you haven’t bought anything in nearly a decade? New pants, a couple packs of boxers, another pack of plain t-shirts, and socks. A pair of jersey printed pajama pants to sleep in. I divert to the shoe section and find a pair of Skechers to replace my new flip flops. Back in the men’s clothing section, I choose a hoodie, a plain navy blue one. And after a minor internal debate, I select a couple of button-up dress shirts, a gray one and a black one, so that the next time I walk into a meeting with one of these bigwigs from the agency, I won’t feel so underdressed. It’s not much power, but it’s a little, and right now, I can use anything I can get. I run the numbers and quickly calculate that my five hundred dollars is starting to run low.

I leave the shopping cart with Scott and wander to the accessories. I finger a lone baseball cap lying on a shelf. It’s blue. Light blue. Prairie blue. The color of her eyes. I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. I remember how sometimes I used to draw my sweatshirt hood tightly around my head to block out the mine, the lights, and the cameras that I knew were trained on our cages.

I’ve been feeling too exposed lately. Maybe this will help.

I drift to the electronics section, holding the hat in my hands. Betts is still discretely tailing me. My eyes flick over the prepaid phones, quickly eyeballing the prices, trying to figure out if there’s any possible way I could get away with it. Not with him hovering, there’s not.

I meander around the corner to the next aisle and find a display of Apple tablets. I peer at them more closely. They’re calling them ‘iPads’ now. Catchy. Technology has come a long way since I last saw it. I absent-mindedly brush my finger on the glass of one of the tablets and realize with shock after a moment that it’s connected to the internet.

I look up, my heart racing. Betts is still out of sight. I have a moment. A lucky moment.

Quickly, I pull up the internet browser and find the Google window. I don’t know what possesses me to do this instead of searching for her given name, but I type in “OA”, which brings up a webpage for Overeaters Anonymous. On a whim, I go back a page and modify my search to “The OA”.

A YouTube link pops up. “THE_OA.mov.”

Posted thirty minutes ago with one view.

The image on the screen is just a close-up of an eye. But… I _know_ that eye. That prairie blue eye.

My heart drops in my chest.

It’s _her_. It’s her it’s her it’s her-

I glance around again, frantic this time, clutching the cap in my trembling fingers. Betts is up the aisle, wandering back and forth trying to pretend like we don’t know each other. It hasn’t even occurred to him that this is a risk. I need to act normal. I turn the volume down low, suck in a deep breath, and hit the play button.

“I need help,” her voice begins, echoing faintly from the screen. “I need to cross a border that’s hard to define…”

It’s all that I can do not to cry out. Instead, I hold everything in silently, my face stony, as I watch the short clip.

Inside, I feel a strange rush of raw emotions. Ecstasy at seeing her again for the first time since she was torn away from me so painfully. Pride at her determination and resourcefulness. Sorrow at the desperation and pain in the familiar eye that fills the screen. Amazement that I managed to find her at all, here in the electronics section of a Target, when I don’t even know where I am.

Once again, she and I have done the impossible.

_I can’t change your fate. But I can help you meet it._

What is she doing? Something tonight at midnight in a place called Crestwood View.

She’s fighting back. She’s trying to get to _me_. To us. Of course she is. She has to be. I knew she wouldn’t forget us, I knew she wouldn’t be able to move on, I knew she would never give up. She knows better than to go the obvious, expected route, like telling the authorities about us – she knows it would never work. Deep down, we all know that. She’s thinking like she always does. She’s bending her own reality.

The video is over. I want desperately to replay it, but I know can’t risk it. I’ve already risked enough. I navigate back to Google and clear the history and cache of the browser on the tablet, breathing a silent thank you to Peter Maddox and the day he gave the whole varsity offensive line a tutorial on how to watch internet porn on our parents’ computers.

I go back to YouTube and click on the first link, just in time, because Betts is now wandering towards me to investigate what I’m doing. By the time he reaches me, I’m innocently watching a Saturday Night Live clip.

Absently, I shut the tablet off and wander back in the direction of men’s clothes. My head is still spinning. I drop the hat in our cart, which is parked outside the dressing room. I stroll in as casually as I can and peek under the stalls. Scott is the only person in there. I’d recognize his skinny bare feet anywhere, even in socks.

“Dude, let me in real quick,” I hiss.

He yanks open his door, looking irritated. He’s got a plaid button-down shirt hanging off him, which is a sight I never thought I’d see. I slip inside and pull the door shut.

“I’m changing here,” he says.

“Like I’ve never seen you naked,” I retort. “Listen. She posted a video, Scott. Today. She’s gathering people, tonight. I think she’s going to teach them the movements.”

He looks at me, perplexed. “How-?“

“She’s trying to figure out how to get to us. The point is-“ I hear footsteps and fall quiet. I think one of the goons has wandered in. “That’s not a good color on you,” I say, resigned.

“You like the green one better?” he asks, holding it up.

“Sure,” I say.

“You think Rachel will like this one better?”

“Dude.”

“What?”

The footsteps fade away, leaving the changing room. I bend down to make sure they’re gone before I open my mouth again. “She’s trying to find us, but she’s not looking in the right place. And she’s not okay,” I whisper. “She’s upset. Like, frantic. I could see it on her face.”

“She could just be worried about us, ya know,” Scott points out slowly.

“No,” I say. “It’s more than that. I bet you they’re drugging her again.” Scott knows her history as well as I do. She didn’t keep it a secret.

“Maybe she needs it,” he says gently. He licks his lips and I know he’s thinking about the scene I almost caused at the store entrance a few minutes ago. “Maybe all of us do. I even talked to the doctor about it this morning. Look,” he says with a sigh. “Whatever you think you’re gonna do, think real hard first. Think about her, and think about us.”

“I am,” I say. “I’m thinking about all of us, and I don’t know what to do. I need your help.”

“Well,” Scott says. “Not a lot we can do from a fuckin’ dressing room in Target.”

He’s right. It falls in the category of things that will only stress me out. Just like watching Hap march her across the lab away from me. Just like collapsing in despair over two dead bodies locked in his bedroom that I can’t revive. I can’t change it, no matter what I do. I have to focus my energy on things I can change.

Right now, that’s pretty much limited to the items in my shopping cart.

Scott is still puzzling over shirts, so I push the cart over to a price scanner and add up my clothes. I have about forty dollars left. I spin through the store at a breakneck pace, knowing that I’m driving Betts crazy as I do, which is an added bonus.

I spend only a few seconds in the kitchen section staring at the brightly colored knives locked away in their safe, sturdy plastic packaging. I’m so close, the weapons are right there, but there’s no way I could get away with it. Just like the cell phone.

Someday, maybe. When they let their guard down. When they start to trust me. When they forget I’m a prisoner who still craves freedom and always will.

If I pretend long enough, maybe they’ll forget.

I need them to see me as a helpless puppy, and forget that I’m a wolf.

No knives today. Instead, I select a plain Wilson football on a whim, and finish off with a spin through the toy section, where I pick up a cheap deck of playing cards for good measure to finish off my gift card.

I return the cart to Scott and he greets me with a suspicious look as he drops his final clothes selections in.

“Who exactly are you plannin’ to play ball with?”

“Didn’t you ever learn how to toss one of these around?”

He continues to stare at me. “Have we met?”

“Then maybe it’s time you learned. You got a good teacher.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

We wait in the car in silence while the girls shop, but when they return to the van, I see that I’m not the only one who decided to have some fun with my money. Rachel shows me the journal and pen set she picked out. Renata is excited to see the playing cards in my bag, and starts explaining to me how cards were banned in Cuba, but her father owned a deck and taught her how to play poker.

Miguel says something to her in rapid Spanish. She smiles and responds with “Si, gracias.” I wrinkle my nose at her but she doesn’t say anything until we’re pulling out of the parking lot.

“He has a cubilete set,” she explains to me quietly. “Cuban dice. I’ll teach you how to play.”

“You guys are getting friendly, huh?”

She shrugs. “He’s Dominican,” she says dismissively, as if I know what that’s supposed to mean.

To my surprise, Miguel pulls the van over in front of a Chinese take-out place. He walks inside and brings out a menu. Twenty minutes later, the van peels out of the parking lot with me clutching a container full of sesame chicken and egg drop soup in my lap.

Back at the apartment, we dump our shopping bags by the door and assemble around the kitchen table for a feast. Renata and Rachel divide up orders of beef and broccoli and chicken lo mein to share with each other. Scott offers fried dumplings around to share. I take one as I dig into my own dish.

As I slurp soup and wonton strips, I feel a strange satisfaction. I know we’re still prisoners, I know we’re always in danger, but now that we’re getting to make choices, choosing our own clothes and toys and appetizers, it’s enough to trick me into almost feeling normal again. 

Almost.

I tuck two extra packets of wonton strips in the pocket of my hoodie to hide in my dresser later. I don’t care what Hap said about hoarding. I don’t trust any of these people, and I wouldn’t put it past them to try to cut our food supply sometime in the future.

After eight years of eating food made for lab monkeys, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust that this change is permanent.

“Don’t forget the fortune cookies,” Scott says, digging in the bag and dumping them on the table. I reach for one and crack it open, shoving the broken pieces in my mouth. I unravel the slip of paper inside.

“A new voyage will fill your life with untold memories,” I read with a shrug.

Renata grabs for one and breaks it open. “Sometimes travel to new places leads to great transformation.” Her eyes swivel up. We all look at each other. No one wants to say anything. It’s too on the nose.

We’re cleaning up after dinner when the doorbell rings. Renata hurries to answer it. It’s Miguel, with his Cuban dice as promised. She takes them and sets them on the counter.

They exchange a brief patter in Spanish, then he closes the front door and follows her to Scott’s room. Neither one of them looks back at the rest of us as the door closes.

My jaw drops open in shock. I look at Scott and Rachel and see that their mouths are similarly hanging open.

Rachel breaks the silence with a hysterical giggle. “So much for Renata feeling lonely.”

“Did that just happen?” Scott finally stammers.

“Do I get an apology now?” I ask Rachel. She shoves me gently. “I guess that’s a no.”

I finish wiping the greasy Chinese food residue off the kitchen table and leave the two of them settling down in the living room to watch TV. I go into my room and close the door. I can hear the distant yet familiar sound of death metal music drifting through the vent from Hap’s bedroom, which is unsettling. I never could stand his music. I glare at the camera for a moment, hoping to shame anyone invading my privacy right now. Then I bend down and peer under the bed. I won’t fit under there.

Some nights, in the mine, she and I would arrange our sheets to drape over the sides of our cots. We would each crawl underneath, pushing our drawers out of the way so we could fit, curling up with our blankets on the cold stone floor, out of view of Hap and his cameras and Scott and Rachel and Renata and everything else but each other.

We’d whisper faintly, barely able to hear each other through the glass, but fixated on every movement of each others’ lips, knowing that we were hidden alone together in a world of our own making, just the way we wanted it, for at least a few minutes. We knew that we weren’t any safer under our beds than we were out in the open, but it felt like it in a strange way.

We’d lie there for hours and make up stories and describe our fantasies to each other. We couldn’t touch each other, so all we could do was talk. Some of them were complicated. Some of them were simple.

The one I’m thinking about now is when she told me how she wanted to climb onto my lap, her legs on either side of mine, and put her hands on my face and kiss me while I wrapped my arms around her, then tuck her head against my chest, under my chin. I’ve lived that scenario so many times inside my soul since then. Imagining what her scarred back would feel like under my fingers, what her lips would feel like brushing against mine, the erotic feel of her hair pressed against my neck, falling over my chest. Just thinking about her in my lap, kissing her face, it calms me now, brings me a flutter of simple pleasure.

Buried under my sheets, trying to ignore the noises from the vent and from the other side of the bathroom door, I stare at her picture.

I want to forget how scared and sad she looks. But it’s all I can see. I want to forget how desperate she was in the video, but I can’t erase the image from my mind.

“I’m right here. I remember everything about you,” I whisper to her. “How could I forget?” My finger brushes her face in the picture. I stroke around her head and down her silhouette. “Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, whatever you’re trying, I believe in you. I always have.”

I wish she could hear me. I wish I believed myself. I wish we were burrowed together, comforting each other in our safe nest, and not hundreds of miles apart, maybe even thousands, both of us lost in strange worlds we’ve forgotten how to understand.

When I finally emerge from my room, the sounds from Scott’s room have quieted down and I find Rachel and Scott sitting on the floor, leaning together against the couch, watching a Law and Order marathon. I launch myself over the armrest onto the couch behind them, landing with a light bounce. Rachel turns around and smiles at me. Everything feels so goddamn domestic. Almost normal. Like we could get used to this. Like we didn’t just spend years of our lives locked in cages. Like we’re people and not property. Like we’re humans and not research subjects.

Rachel turns slightly and notices the braid in my hand. “What’s that?” she asks.

I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s like the third time I’ve seen you with that thing.” She squints at it. “Is that…?”

I drop it in my pocket. “It’s just trash.”

“It’s not trash.” A look of understanding settles across her face as she finally realizes where she’s seen the pieces before. She knows.

I shake my head. “Don’t say anything. Please.” My eyes dart to the camera. She nods subtly and turns back to the television.

When Miguel finally emerges from the room with Renata, none of us look up as he makes his way to the door. We wait until he’s outside to turn to her at once.

“What?” she asks, as though we’d accused her of something.

“You make friends quickly,” Scott says. “That’s all.”

She fixes me with a look, even though I’ve been trying to stay out of this. “You have something to say, Homer?”

“Mmm-mmmm,” I say. “Nope. Nothing here.”

“I should hope not,” she says. I raise my hands in surrender.

“He brought you the dice game,” Rachel offers politely. “That was nice of him.”

“Yes,” Renata says, looking to her with relief. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? I’ll teach you all how to play.”

I can’t help myself. “What did he say to you? Do you think he would help us?”

Her eyes flick only briefly to the living room camera and I feel like a fool for forgetting that we’re being watched. Even if he would, she can’t answer the question. “How do you mean? Will he help us break out of here? Of course not.”

“So you’re just fucking one of our captors for what? Fun?” Scott asks with a disgusted tone.

“Scott!” Rachel says, drawing back from him in outrage.

“He did get us Chinese food,” I say, hoping to smooth things over. “And it’s not like she’s sleeping with, I dunno, Hap.”

“Right, cause that was _your_ girlfriend,” he shoots back.

“Scott!” Rachel says again, horrified.

I stare at him for a long moment, trying to think of a comeback, some way to hurt him the way he hurt me. But the words don’t come, and after a long moment, all I can do is jump to my feet and storm to my room, slamming the door behind me.

It’s not like she had a choice. But it’s not like he’s wrong, either.

I hear Rachel calling my name, but I’m done for the night. For once, I want to be alone.

Somewhere, far away in Michigan, OA is reaching out for help, gathering her new troupe of followers, starting the impossible process of trying to find me, and I don’t want to ruin her energy by letting Scott remind me of the parts I don’t want to think about. 

I lie back on the bed, the news article propped up beside me, clutching the braid to my chest, reminding myself of how much I hate Scott sometimes, brother or no. I know in my heart that he’s a victim just like me, that he has reasons for being so cruel, that it’s a defense mechanism, that he didn’t mean to hurt me like that, but sometimes I wish he had a little more sensitivity.

I feel more alone than ever as I drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the chapter count increased a little bit this week. Turns out one of the later chapters was a bit unwieldy and needed to be two. Enjoy this week's update and keep an eye on this space!


	8. Honey and the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homer and Scott attempt to patch things up. Homer meets a suspiciously amicable agency staffer and has a sobering realization about Jeremy’s theory and plans for next phase of the experiment. In the midst of a late night crisis, the captives struggle against each other as well as the agency, and Rachel has a startling breakthrough.

 

When I wake up, I know it’s early.

The sun is just starting to rise behind the wispy trees at the edge of the lawn outside my window. I can’t hear any sounds from Hap’s apartment. Our living room is still dark and silent. I have it all to myself.

I flip on a light and dig through the kitchen, settling on a leftover cinnamon raisin bagel. I pop it in the toaster – we have a _toaster_ \- and start a pot of coffee. The bagel pops up and I slather it with cream cheese, then settle down on the couch with my hot bagel and a mug of coffee and turn the TV on ESPN with the volume low.

I can’t help but wonder how OA’s gathering went last night. If anyone can assemble a good new team, it’s her. I wonder what kind of people she’s managed to find, and how long it will take before they realize that a truly incredible person has come into their lives. It took me a while to realize it myself. She’s special. There’s no one else like her.

The coffee is good, too. Fucking _incredible_. Was it really just two days ago that I was sipping watery coffee out of a tin cup in a bare jail cell down in the brig and thinking how great that was? I should be happy about all of this. I should be grateful. I should be a lot of things I’m not.

A door creaks open from my side of the apartment. I don’t look back, but I listen for the footsteps. Clunky. Masculine. They aren’t Rachel’s. I set my face in a scowl and wait. So much for having the place to myself this morning.

He pours himself coffee from the pot in the kitchen, then settles down next to me on the couch. I refuse to look at him as I sip my coffee, staring at the basketball replays on TV.

“You gonna freeze me out now?” he asks.

I don’t answer him as I take another bite of bagel.

“I don’t think any of it’s funny, if that’s your problem,” he continues. “It’s all disgusting. Hap, Renata’s friend – don’t matter, I’m not okay with any of ‘em.”

“That’s two of us,” I mumble into my coffee.

“We’re lucky, you know,” he says. He takes a sip of coffee. “Being guys. But it don’t make it feel any easier, when it’s our girls.”

“Renata’s not some little kid,” I point out. “She’s making her own choices.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But it ain’t exactly an even playing field, and we all know it. Plus someone else owns her.”

I shake my head, still staring at the TV. “The agency.”

“It’s fucked up,” he says finally.

“So what do you want me to do about it?” I ask, turning on him, the anger swelling in me again. “You want me to sleep with her, so she’s not horny?”

“I ain’t sayin’-”

“God, Scott. You get Rachel. With a room. And privacy, and a bed. All I get’s a photograph.”

“Homer-“

“I’m trying to be happy for you guys, okay?”

He softens at that. “I’m not tryin’ to be an asshole or nothin’.”

“I know. For once. And I’m trying not to hate you. Cause we made a vow, and we still need each other.”

“So forget I said anything, then.”

I shrug, still feeling uncomfortable, but I have to get over it. It’s just Scott. “Hey, maybe we could get the football out later today,” I offer as an olive branch.

“You and that damn football,” he says, shaking his head.

“All I Ever Wanted Was a Damn Football, a Memoir. By Homer Roberts.”

“Chapter Seven: Scott Don’t Fucking Care.” I wave a dismissive hand at him, but offer a small smile just to say that we’re okay. For now.

Renata and Rachel both get up after about an hour, and while the girls eat breakfast, Scott and I scoot the furniture again for morning class. My body is still sore from running yesterday. It’s so strange to be able to walk and run for distances again, but I work myself through it. Mind over matter, and right now I want my matter back to something resembling normal humanity. We open with our run and then do two sessions of yoga for a change of pace.

No one wants to do the movements today. We know they’re watching.

Renata and I wait in the living room together while Scott and Rachel use the showers first. “Hey,” I say to her softly. “Your thing with Miguel. I mean, I know it’s none of my business, but… you’re okay, right?”

She shrugs. “He’s kind. And he reminds me of Jose.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I say without thinking. “Renata… I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize.”

She shrugs. “I suppose that is my weak spot.”

She’s never told us much about her husband. All I’ve gathered over the years is that they drowned together while trying to reach Florida. She came back, and he didn't.

All of us have lives full of irony and sadness, but sometimes I think hers is the worst. Because she’s here now – in America – and she’s more of a prisoner than she ever was on her own island.

It’s one more reason why I can’t forgive myself for what happened between us. And also why I hope Miguel is truly as kind as she thinks he is.

I jump in the shower after Scott and then, using the blunt child’s scissors from our kitchen, remove the tags from the jeans, the hoodie, and my new black button-down shirt.

Most important to me, though, is the baseball cap. I secure it with the brim low, over my eyes. There. Now I don’t see the cameras when I look around the apartment, which means they can’t see me. Or at least, they can’t see my eyes. 

I don’t want them to see what I’m feeling.

As I freshen up, I hear voices at the vent again. Someone is finally visiting Hap. I pause in the corner, fiddling with my hoodie, to listen.

“-doesn’t seem dangerous. Maybe to you, in your lab, but not here.” Jeremy.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Hap.

“You make him sound like some crazed monster. But he looks to me more like a scared mouse.” It’s a third voice, someone I haven’t heard before. “I would guess the reality is probably somewhere in between.”

“I told you, he’s cagey. He’s manipulating you all.” I feel a chill through my veins. They’re talking about me. “They’re all capable of it. Look at my records. Look at the act she pulled on me. They’re not docile. They’re not weak. None of them are. But especially not him. Don’t fall for it.”

“His behavior is consistent with severe trauma. That’s nearly impossible to fake,” says the third voice.

“Okay. Fine. But consider this. I turned my back on him for ten minutes, just one time, and he had a woman he barely met in his bed, legs spread. Never mind the fact that his so-called girlfriend was waiting for him back in the lab.” My fists tighten, nails digging into my flesh. It wasn’t as vulgar as he makes it sound. That person he’s describing, it’s true, it happened, but that’s not me. It wasn’t like that. “Trauma can be relative.”

“That doesn’t-“

“I’ve watched him for years. I know him. You don’t. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“We aren’t locking him in the brig, Hap,” Jeremy says. “Not now. That’s final. He’ll be monitored carefully, but it’s time to focus on healing him, if he’s going to be any use to us. If my theories are correct.” I breathe out a small sigh of relief, but his words aren’t enough to make me fully relax. I still feel unsettled. What use could Jeremy want with me? What is _his_ theory? What am I being healed for exactly?

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. He’s laughing at you behind your backs.”

He’s wrong. I am definitely not laughing.

I’m not surprised a few minutes later when Jeremy shows up at the door, almost on cue, for a second day in a row. He’s here for me.

“What’s today?” I ask dully. “I had my physical.”

“We’ve got something different today,” is all that he says.

I stiffen. Maybe Hap won the argument after all. I glance over my shoulder nervously but the others are all in their rooms. “What is it now? Another experiment?”

“No,” he says hastily. “I guess I shouldn’t surprise you, should I? There’s someone I want you to talk to.”

We start down the hall. “We couldn’t reach the bar you said Mandy worked at,” he says casually as we walk along the corridor. I turn to him sharply. “Flannery? It closed down, about five years back from what we can tell.”

“Can’t you find the old owners?” I press. “Employee records. Social security. There has to be something. She was a real person. She’s out there.”

“No one’s saying she’s not,” he says gently.

“You have to find her,” I press. “I have to know where my kid is.”

“We’ll try,” he says. “I promise you, we’ll keep trying.”

I press my lips together. I don’t know whether I believe him anymore.

Today’s office is blank, almost like it’s temporary, just a desk and chairs and a small couch. The dark-skinned young man behind the desk rises to greet me with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. I stare at his hand without moving.

“Homer, this is Eli,” Jeremy says as Eli withdraws his hand.

He leaves us alone and I take a seat awkwardly across from Eli at the desk.

“Nice to finally meet you, Homer Roberts,” Eli says. I recognize his voice. He’s the third man who was talking to Hap this morning.

“What’s this about?” I ask, unable to keep the hostile tone out of my voice.

Eli shakes his head. “Nothing bad,” he says. “I promise. I’m here for you to talk to. That’s all.”

“I don’t want medication,” I say immediately.

“No one said anything about medication,” he agrees.

“Look.” I lick my lips and pause, weighing what to say. “I know Scott’s asking for some. Be careful with him, please? He’s an addict.”

“We know. That will be reviewed by the team, I promise. But it’s nice of you to be concerned for him.” He’s gentle and patient. So open and trustworthy. I don’t trust him.

“What are we supposed to talk about here?” I fold my arms. “If you want information on me, it’s in the files. You and your… ‘team’ have them all. What do you need from me?” I wonder what else Hap has told him about me. 

“Up to you,” he says. “Talk about whatever you need. I’m a trauma specialist. You can think of me as a sounding board. Someone on your side. I’m here to help you.”

“None of you are on my side,” I spit without thinking. “I’m here against my will, and you people are all talking about going after my best friend. Stop pretending anyone’s on my side.”

“Fair enough,” he says evenly.

We sit there in silence for a few long moments. I think about what I just said. Right now, I’m being pretty damn wolf-like. Aggressive. Confrontational. I don’t want to prove Hap right. But it’s hard to keep it under control.

"How are you sleeping?" He tosses the question out like it's an aside, though I know it isn't.

_Be the puppy_. I hang my head. "Not great," I admit, which is the truth. "I thought being back in a real bed would knock me out, but it's kind of weird, actually." Plus there's the loneliness factor, which I don't want to admit. I don’t want to show him my genuine weakness.

"They could give you something for that," he offers. “I know you said you don’t want meds, but. It wouldn’t have to be psychiatric.”

"I don't know." I’m not sure I want to give up control and be drugged into unconsciousness again.

"How about try it just for tonight and see how it feels?”  
  
"Um. Maybe." I know Hap used to take sleeping pills. Maybe he still does. OA thought it was because what was left of his conscience would keep him up at night otherwise. I don’t know if I want to do anything like Hap. But the idea of sleeping soundly is appealing, too.  
  
"I'll send something by for you later."

“Okay. I’m sorry,” I say. I drop my arms and heave a sigh, trying to figure out how to play my act. I slouch down slightly in my seat. I have to give him something. Something he’ll expect from me. “I’m just worried about her. Prairie.”

“You said she’s your best friend,” Eli says gently. “It must be hard for you not to have her around anymore.”

I shrug. “Well. I’m happy she’s free.”

“Do you think she’s happy?”

I swallow hard, thinking about her face in the photo, her eye peering at me frantically from the tablet in Target. “I don’t know.”

“You two spent a lot of time together. Probably more than most people ever do in their lifetimes.”

“Yeah,” I say absently. “We did.” I finger the bottom of the zipper of the hoodie. It still feels strange, being in these new clothes. They don’t feel right. I don’t feel like me.

“I can’t begin to imagine what you’re feeling, or what you’ve gone through.”

I shrug, feeling even more uncomfortable now. I don’t want to talk this much about real feelings. Not with him. “Whatever.”

“Really?” 

I shrug again. “What am I supposed to say? It reminds me I survived.”

"How do you mean?" He leans forward.

"Having feelings," I explain, pulling the zipper up and down absently. "Reminds me I'm alive. It’s supposed to hurt sometimes, isn’t it?”

"Well," he says, considering. "Your situation is still rather exceptional."

I shrug again. "I’ve never been normal.”

He smiles a little at that. “So do you think you’re stronger than other people now? That you can manage more pain than them?”

“Fuck, no. It hurts like hell,” I point out. “It’d probably be better not to feel anything.”

“Even if it means being dead?”

I pull my zipper down with a final tug and fix him with a look. “I know what it feels like to die,” I remind him. “I’m not scared of that.”

For a moment, I’ve thrown him for a loop. I can see him searching for a response, flipping through his file catalogue of therapeutic answers. I feel pleased that I’m confusing him.

“So what are you afraid of?”

What is the truth? I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid of loss. I’m afraid of separation. I don’t see any reason to be afraid of dying at this point, but I’m terrified of losing Rachel or Scott or Renata like I lost OA. It’s the thing that scares me the most. If I can’t have her, I need them. The movements and my three companions - those are the only things left in my world that matter to me anymore.

But I’m also afraid of Eli knowing what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of why he wants to know.

“I’m afraid of Prairie being in pain,” I say finally. It’s close enough to the truth. “I don’t know if she can handle it. Not without me.”

“But you don’t fear anything for yourself?”

“Once you’ve gotten used to dying,” I point out, “there’s not much left to be afraid of.”

“I saw you with Dr. Percy yesterday,” he says gently. I don’t want to ask how. His eyes continue to pierce through me, like he’s hearing more than I’m saying. “You seemed afraid of him.”

I try to suppress a shiver. “I thought your people said he can’t hurt me anymore.”

“You’re not afraid of death, but you’re afraid of the man who killed you?”

I swallow. I don’t have an answer to that. I don’t know where to start. “It’s complicated.”

“And he also took Prairie away from you.”

I shove my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. “Yeah.”

“Was he in love with her?”

I look up sharply. “What? Why does that matter?”

“I don’t know. Does it?”

“No. He was not in love with her,” I snap. Something is rising in me, something I’m not sure I can control. “Love is… is selfless. Compassionate. Love is mutual. He was fixated on her, yeah. Obsessed, maybe. But love? Fuck, no.” I stand up and pace to the door, facing away from him.

“There,” Eli says, sounding excited all of a sudden. “You feel that?”

“What?”

“That anger,” he says. “That passion.”

“What about it?”

He looks strangely satisfied. “That’s it.”

Now I swivel around to him, perplexed. “Huh?”

“Your movements,” he says patiently. He sees the confusion on my face. “Let me back up. There’s a working theory that it’s more than just mechanics.” Jeremy’s theory. “We’ve been trying. We have a control group that’s been training over the last couple of days using Dr. Percy’s records, but they can’t do a thing. Not like you. Not like Hap documented. Your emotions, your feelings – that’s the constant, and that could be what makes it work.”

His words cut through my emotions as I consider what he’s saying. I remember the day we revived Scott, how wrecked I was in the hours before our reality bent. I remember healing Evelyn in Hap’s bedroom, and how my heart had been lifted and then crushed by the glimmer of a hope of rescue. I remember what OA said about needing to be strong. Maybe this is what she meant.

But I don’t think he’s right. He’s missing something. I just don’t know what it is.

“Are you really a trauma specialist?”

“Yes,” he says with a hint of a smile. “We think that’s what you need right now, after all.”

The darker side of his purpose finally dawns on me. “If this theory is true, then what are you going to do to make the movements work? Have Hap stand there yelling at us with a gun again?”

“Personally?” he asks. “I don’t believe that’s going to be necessary.” I look at him in horror. Someone clearly does. “But you have to learn to manage your emotions,” he continues in a rush. “Which means learning to feel when you need to, and turn it off when you need to. And in order to do that, you have a lot of processing to do. You need to be able to channel what you just did, whenever you need it. That’s what I want to help you do. I’m here to help you, Homer.”

I have to think for a moment about what he's saying. He's saying that our distress, our suffering, may be the key to this discovery they want to research further.

He’s saying that more research could, by definition, mean more pain for us. Having to relive what I felt when Scott died, or when the sheriff betrayed us, or when Hap ripped OA away from my touch and locked me in a room with two dead bodies. 

Now I realize I have something new to be afraid of. The fear that we could all face a long lifetime full of pain and torment in the name of this experiment.

A moment later, I have a worse realization. When Jeremy talked about bringing her back, he wasn’t just talking about the movements.

They _know_. If they want to manipulate my emotions, make me feel something strongly, the best way to do that is with her.

He says he wants to help me, but it’s not for my own good.

“There could be a million reasons why it hasn’t worked here,” I say, my voice hoarse and shaking.

“And we might have to try a million times to figure it out,” he says. “But you understand why this is important, don’t you?”

Do I?

On my way back to the apartment, I can’t stop thinking about her.

When she first joined us, I was lost and defeated. I’d given up hope of ever regaining my humanity.

I’d only been down there a year. At the time, it felt like an eternity of torment. I was drowning in despair and deep depression. I felt forgotten.

But when she came, she set a fire to my darkness, illuminating things I didn’t think I would ever feel again. Suddenly, I needed to be strong for _her_.

I had to force her to pick herself up and survive. And when I did, I rekindled a spirit in myself that I thought was lost forever. When I helped her find reasons to go on living, she returned the favor, by transforming us all from the forsaken to the blessed.

She pulled me from the depths of my own misery and delivered me a mission and a higher purpose. She helped me understand that I still had a hero’s quest to achieve. She helped me see the path. She gave me the courage to face death with my eyes open and my heart still. I couldn’t have done any of it without knowing she was there, guiding me, supporting me, needing me.

She deserves so much more than this. She doesn’t deserve to be a tool to manipulate my emotions. She doesn’t deserve to be manipulated or to go back to being a lab rat after toying with freedom. Maybe I’ve been doing the wrong thing by trying to remember her.

Maybe the only way to save her is to forget.

At yard time, I strip down to my boxer shorts. I know I’m deathly pale, and I want to enjoy today’s sun, even though it’s still a chilly day. I sprawl out on the damp grass and close my eyes, feeling the winter sun burning my hungry flesh, listening to the sounds of Rachel walking the perimeter of the yard and Renata tuning her new guitar on a bench and Scott softly breaking the silence with an occasional cough as he smokes a cigarette and reads today’s paper.

I don’t want to forget her.

But I also don’t want her to be a hostage used to cause me pain.

I have to find a way to her first.

When we get back to the apartment, I stand in the kitchen for a long time staring at the child’s scissors in the kitchen. They still have a sharp edge. So does the razor I’ve been using to shave in the morning. Hap always used to be extremely cautious about handing out and confiscating razors every week. They aren’t being as careful here. And no one has even realized that Betts slipped up at Target and let me go on the internet. We have more chances than we ever had before, but none of them are enough. Not yet.

I know I’ll only get one chance. Once I make a move, and the sad little puppy is revealed to be a big dangerous wolf, it’s over. I have to cultivate their trust. I have to convince them that Hap is wrong. I have to cooperate long enough to find the best chance I can, for all of us. For her, too.

I’m not doing a good job so far. I have to make them think I’m on their side if I want them to let their guard down. It won’t happen overnight. But I have to start somewhere.

Later that night, Miguel stops by bearing a small paper cup with my sleeping pill.

“Thanks,” I say, taking it from him. I step back and wait for him to close the door.

He points at the cup. “Can’t leave ‘til you take it.”

“You shitting me, dude?”

He shrugs, apologetic. “Orders.”

“Fine.” It’s not that late, but Renata vouched for him, and I don’t want to piss him off. I pour a swig of milk and make a show of placing the pill on my tongue, swallowing it, and demonstrating for him that it’s gone, like a good patient. Satisfied, he takes a moment to wave good night to Renata before leaving us alone.

It only takes a few minutes for my head to grow heavy. I take an extra sleeve of Pop Tarts from the kitchen. I slink back into my room and stash them underneath my boxers in the closet, then climb onto the bed and tuck myself up into a ball under the covers. Eventually, I sink into a deep sleep. It's not peaceful exactly, but it does take me far away.   
  
I can sense her floating not too far away from me. She's looking for me, too, feeling lost.

I want to tell her I'm okay. I want to tell her she has to forget me. I want to tell her I have to forget her, even though I don't want to, but that I have to do it, to save her.

The words don't come. Maybe it's me. Maybe I can't bring myself to do it.

Somewhere, still far away, I feel someone shaking me roughly. I don't want to come back, not when I'm so close to her. But they won’t go away, so I open my eyes anyway.

Scott is kneeling beside my bed, wide-eyed and frantic, his hands gripping my shoulders. "It's Rachel."

I leap out of my bed, pushing aside my grogginess, and follow him through the connecting bathroom into his room. She's lying on his bed, breathing shallow, looking flushed.

"She woke up like this," he says urgently. My hand brushes the bed. Her sheets are soaked from sweat. I touch my hand to her forehead, like my mom used to do when I was a kid.

I look back at Scott, worried. "She's burning up." Her head is scalding hot. Dangerously hot. She moans under my fingers.

"I - don't know what to do," he says. His eyes are darting back and forth.

"Get her some water," I order. Truthfully, I don't know what to do, either, but I can see that he's starting to freak out, and I need him to keep it together.

I hurry through the apartment to Renata's room and pound on her door until she pulls it open, looking annoyed. "Rachel's sick," I say without ceremony. Renata grabs for her robe and races past me across the apartment and into the room, where Scott is already helping Rachel sip from a glass of cool tap water.

I stop in the living room, peering at the camera. "Hello?" I ask. Of course, it doesn't respond. "Someone wanna come give us a hand here?" I wave angrily at the camera, pointing back to the room. "We need help," I say, speaking clearly in case someone is watching without sound. I pace to the camera in Renata's room, and climb up on a chair, waving at it. "Help us."

I cross back to the front door and pull at it, knowing even before I do that it will be locked. I yank on it a couple more times, then pound on it, beating my fists against the surface. "Hello?” I look around the room. The only thing I see that looks remotely useful is the pot on the stove. I grab it and fix my hands firmly on the handle, then swing it, smashing it against the door repeatedly, as hard as I can. "Help!" I scream. "Help!"

It makes a loud noise and reverberates through my arms.

But still, no one comes.

Renata emerges from the room. "No one is coming?" She looks concerned. She lowers her voice. "She's very ill," she says. “We need a doctor, quickly."

"There are doctors in the building," I say. "If anyone was fucking paying attention to us..."

"How can they do this?" She shakes her head. "Lock us in here like animals, and forget we're here?"

"Where’s Miguel? Did he tell you anything about what to do in the middle of the night in an emergency?"

"No. He stays in the barracks, on the other side of the compound, above the brig."

I file this information away in case it's useful later. Right now, it's useless.

"Oh god! She's-" Renata and I immediately spring into action at Scott's shout and are at Rachel's side in seconds. Her eyes have rolled back and she's convulsing. I feel my heart leap in my chest in panic.

"It's just a seizure," I say, trying to sound calm, though I'm fucking terrified.

Renata is hovering behind me. "We should cool her down. Can you find some towels? Soak them in cool water." Scott jumps back into action.

I inch Rachel’s shaking body closer to the middle of the bed so that she's not at risk of falling off. It's a twin bed, there's barely enough room for one person, let alone two. "Rach?" I ask, though of course she's unresponsive. I didn't expect anything else. I don’t like seeing her like this. I don’t like the helplessness. "Rach, stay with me here, babe. Okay? You're gonna be okay. We're getting help. Fast as we can." I tuck her hair behind her ears. It’s damp with sweat.

Scott joins my side with a pile of wet towels. I place one on her forehead and the others on her wrists. Her convulsing slows.

"Rach?" I ask. "Can you hear me?" I hear a small, responsive grunt. It’ll have to do. I lower my voice so that the others can’t hear. “Remember what you promised, okay? You aren’t allowed to leave us. We’re holding you to it.” I rub her shoulder and straighten up. "Keep the towels on her," I say to Scott in a low voice.

"Where you goin'?" He looks concerned.

"I'm gonna keep trying.”

"Where the hell are they, Homer?" he hisses. "Why do they lock the goddamn door, if they ain’t watchin’ us?"

"I know," I say. "Scott, I know. You take care of her, okay?"

I leave him and Renata to tend to Rachel while I hurry back to the living room. I stare around, thinking. We don’t have a lot to work with. I need paper. I remember the journal Rachel bought at Target, and I barge into her room. The journal is lying out on her desk. I open it. There's already a half-finished pen and ink drawing of a plant on the first page. I recognize it as one of the plants from Scott's cell, back at the lab.

Rachel hated the plants. Scott used to explain to us that they helped our air quality, and I always thought they gave us something to do to keep us from going crazy, but she refused after a while to do anything to take care of hers, until her cell was full of dead plants. It was her own quiet way of rebelling against Hap.

But this – it’s her own quiet way of doing something else.

I turn the page absently and suck in a breath. It’s a crude sketch, only the barest outlines of a face, but I’d recognize it anywhere, even though I haven’t seen it for years. It must have been haunting Rachel all that time.

I wonder how long she’s been thinking about drawing August’s face. She still remembers every detail.

I hope she’s not in a hurry to join her now.

I shake my head and rip out a blank sheet from the back of the notebook, then scrawl a message on it, in bold capital letters:

RACHEL IS SICK. HELP US.

I walk out to the living room and hold the sign up for the various cameras pointedly. Nothing happens. Finally, I place the sign on top of the TV where the living room camera should have a good shot of it.

I move back into the hall, and lurk by the doorframe of Scott's room. Rachel is sitting up again, sipping from the glass of water as Scott rubs her back and Renata watches, worried, from the bathroom door.

“How’s she doing?” I ask softly.

“She’s burning up still,” Scott says, checking her forehead again. Rachel offers a small moan in response. She’s awake, but she’s clearly in distress. “She needs some fucking Tylenol!”

“Yeah, well,” I say, feeling my frustration rising. “We don’t have any, so what else can we do?”

“She’s cooling down a little,” Renata says. “She needs quiet and rest.” She looks at us pointedly.

“You okay, girl?” Scott whispers, stroking her hair. Rachel murmurs a grunt of agreement and the three of us pace back out to the living room.

“Fucking bastards,” Renata hisses, once we’re far enough away that Rachel can’t hear.

I show them the sign I placed for the camera. “I don’t know what else to do,” I say, my voice low and tense. “They locked us in here and left us to rot.”

“I’ma kill ‘em,” Scott says, and I see an anger flaring in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.

“No,” I say. I put my hand on his shoulder. I can feel how tense he is. “Remember? First rule. We’re together. Don’t do anything that will make them separate us. All right? We’ll find another way. We always do.”

“Homer…” We all glance at each other, then back at the room, where Rachel is weakly calling my name.

I lead the stampede back to her, and I’m kneeling at her side in seconds. “I’m here, Rach.”

“Homer,” Rachel says again urgently. “I have it. I think-”

“Shush,” I whisper. One of the towels has fallen off her forehead and I gently drape it back on. Her skin feels hot and clammy as I brush it.

“I know,” she whispers. “I know-“

A sound at the front door startles me. I spin around. It’s the lock. After a moment, I finally hear the door open.

“Where is she?” Jeremy’s voice demands. Renata ushers him past Scott into the room. Hap appears right behind him.

I feel my jaw stiffen. Not the help I wanted, but we don’t have a choice. I climb to my feet and back away, hanging my head, letting them rush to her side. I move to the side of the room where Scott is standing. We can’t do anything else for her right now and they can. If she’s right, if she really does have the answers she and I need, we need them to get her stabilized before we can do anything else. Hap is the first one to reach her. He kneels beside the bed and feels her forehead.

“We need to get her out of here,” Hap says in a low voice to Jeremy. Beside me, I can sense Scott tensing up even more. I place my hand on his arm to calm him.

Hap takes Rachel in his arms, rising to his feet, and I tighten my grip on Scott’s arm.

“Where are you taking her?” Renata asks quietly from the hallway.

“The infirmary downstairs,” Jeremy says.

“I’m coming too,” Scott says, shaking free of my grasp and stepping forward.

“No, you’re not,” Hap says.

“Jeremy,” I say in a low tone, pleading with my eyes for him to allow Scott to go. “Please.” But he shakes his head, siding with Hap, who is now carrying Rachel out of the room.

“She’ll be taken care of,” he says. “You stay here. Get some rest.”

“You can’t take her away from me,” Scott says, his voice rising. He takes a dangerous step in the direction of Hap and Rachel.

I don’t know if anyone but me realizes just how perilous the situation is right now.

I know how much anger Scott is holding in. They don’t. I don’t think even Hap realizes what he’s capable of, because he’s never seen this side of Scott. He’s never seen Scott with something he cares about at stake. He’s never seen Scott care about anything but himself.

“I understand you’re upset,” Jeremy says patiently. “We’ll give you an update in the morning.” 

“She needs me,” he says urgently.

“She needs rest,” Jeremy says, his voice firm. “And so do the rest of you.”

“The hell I do-“ In a flash, though I’m still groggy from the medicine, I see Scott launch himself at Jeremy, and in the same instant, I lunge to intercept him, grabbing onto both arms and yanking him back. If he hurts Jeremy, it’s all over. “Fuck _off_ me!” he shouts, fighting to free himself. 

“I think you should leave,” Renata says quietly to Jeremy as I struggle to hang onto Scott’s shoulder. He takes this as a cue and hurries out of the apartment after Hap and Rachel. I wait until the door is shut and locked to release Scott.

He whirls around, his fist flying through the air, and immediately decks me straight in the face. I see it coming and manage to move back with his punch, deflecting the blow just enough, but it still burns. My hand claps to my cheek. If it was anyone else I would swing right back, but I can’t. Not Scott. Not now.

“How could you?” he screams at me.

“There was nothing we could do,” I explain, feeling tired. “We’re helpless. You know that.”

“So you just let them _take_ her?”

“We don’t get a choice,” I repeat. “I’m not letting you, or anyone else, get thrown back in the brig. We made a vow.”

“Who cares about - she could be _dyin’_!” His voice breaks.

“You won’t save her by freaking out.”

“Scott, calm down,” Renata says, her voice patient and even, as she scurries to join us. “Homer’s trying to help.”

“The fuck he is!” He kicks hard at one of the dining chairs and it slams across the room, colliding with a wall, where one of the legs falls off.

“Get it together,” she snaps, and finally that’s enough to startle him back into calmness. She takes his hands in hers. “We’ve done everything we could.”

“She’ll be okay,” I say, moving to pick up the broken chair. “She’s too valuable for them to let her die.” I hear the bitterness in my own voice. “For good, anyway.”

“What was she talkin’ about back there?” he asks, pulling away sharply from Renata. “When she asked for you.”

I put the chair pieces down and glance at the door. I know Jeremy and Hap are gone, but I’m still hesitant to say. “She was delirious,” I say cautiously. I turn back to Scott. “She’ll come back when she’s better, and we’ll ask her then,” I say, with as much authority as I can summon. “Okay?” Then I shake my head, trying to caution him not to say any more.

He’s still furious, and I know he hates the idea of me sharing secrets with Rachel that don’t include him, but I try to tell him with my eyes that he’s not the one we’re trying to leave out right now. I think it works, because he relents, silently storming back into his room and slamming the door.

I release a breath I’d forgotten that I was holding and turn to the camera. I know that they’re probably not watching anymore, but it still makes me feel better to hold up my middle finger and aim it at the camera for a long time before going back into my room.

I don’t want OA here. I’ve spent all this time thinking I was jealous of what Scott has now with Rachel, but I’m not. I can’t be. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, shaking with fury and despair, watching them rip her away from me once again for the purposes of the goddamn experiment.

I hope Rachel’s right, because we need to reach OA more than ever. She has to know.

She has to stay as far away from us as she can.


	9. Ball Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homer and Scott try one more time to understand each other after their latest scuffle. Homer is reunited with Rachel and they run their own secret experiment, with startling results, before stealing a moment of comfort together. Homer is upset by Eli’s latest attempt at a friendly therapy session and the news he brings about the outside world.

I try to fall back to sleep, but even with the lingering effect of the sleeping pill, there isn’t much peace for me to find. I try to reach out for OA, but all I can see is Rachel, pale and trembling on the bed. All I can feel is Scott, shaking with fury in my grip. I manage to doze on and off, fitfully, ignoring the howling wind from a storm somewhere far away outside, until finally the smell of Scott’s morning coffee lures me from my room.

This morning, once again, we don’t say a word to each other. I wait until he’s done at the pot to pour myself a cup. He doesn’t look over at me, and I try not to look at him. We might as well be living in parallel dimensions.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget how different we are. Not in an opposites attract way, but in a completely antagonistic and polarizing way. OA used to tell us that we were all meant to find each other, but when it comes to me and Scott, I’ve always found that hard to believe.

Some days there’s the guy who’s helping me struggle through the entrance at Target, clutching my hand in the middle of the night, the man who quite literally owes me his life, forever my brother in this bizarre existence of ours, but other days, there’s the guy who once started an argument with me over the lyrics to “Bohemian Rhapsody” that got so intense that I’m pretty sure that I felt homicidal tendencies. We went three days without speaking until the girls intervened. No one can get under my skin like he can, and sometimes it seems like my very existence pisses him off. And yet we’re supposed to be on the same team. Sometimes, it feels like someone’s idea of a cosmic joke.

Finally, I remind myself that he made the effort yesterday, so it’s probably my turn to break the ice today.

“Are we gonna do this every day?” I ask, sliding into a seat at the table across from him. “Now that we don’t have walls keeping us apart anymore? We put one up ourselves?”

He leans his head back. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re glad to be stuck with me right now.” His head rolls on his neck and he stares over at me. He must have been thinking the same things I was as we silently puttered around each other.

I force myself to look directly back at him, meeting his gaze. For the first time, I notice just how much younger he looks now that he’s clean-shaven, even though his face still wears years of deep sadness and fatigue. “I mean… I can think of worse people.”

“That ain’t a huge vote of confidence.”

“We can’t keep doing this, Scott. You know that. We need each other too much.”

Scott takes a sip of his coffee and looks away from me. “You and me, we know each other too well.”

“And we care too much about the same people,” I add, feeling bold this morning. “Look, you know I’m all for you and Rachel doing… whatever.” I take a deep breath. “But if you try and control her, she’ll be the first one to tell you off. She’s my sister, too. You gotta respect that." 

“I don’t see her as a sister,” he mutters. “Not anymore.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “Really. But let the rest of us care about her along with you, okay?”

“I could say the same thing to you,” Scott points out quickly. “You been mopin’ around about OA for days, like she wasn’t just as important to me and the girls. I get that y’all two had something special, but could you take your head out of your ass for a minute, and realize the rest of us are missing her, too?”

I blink at him. “Jesus, Scott.”

“Sorry, I-“

“No,” I say, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” I pause. “I’m still not ready to talk about it.”

“Yeah.” He stares off into space. “I don’t know what to do lately. It’s like, my brain is makin’ me do things I just don’t understand. Stuff I can’t put into words. It ain’t logical, I ain’t sayin’ it makes sense, but it’s what I feel.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I say. “Man, with what we’ve been through? We’re lucky any of us can get through a day without completely breaking down.” I hesitate. “You wanna know something I haven’t told anyone?”

“Hmmph.” He looks bored, which I take as a yes.

“Right after OA left, I think I was maybe… mad at her? Which is stupid. She didn’t control anything. I know she didn’t want to leave. But she left me.” I shake my head. “And that’s not logical, either. Sometimes feelings don’t make sense. Sometimes they’re just feelings.” I exhale. I feel a rush to have admitted that out loud.

“You know what’s been bugging me?” he asks, then goes on without waiting for my confirmation. “The plants.” I stare at him. “They’re just dyin’ back there in that mine, y’know? They didn’t do nothin’ to no one, they kept our air fresh for years, workin’ hard, and they just get forgotten. Ain’t nothin’ I can do about it. Just like I can’t do nothin’ about...” He looks down. He can’t finish the sentence.

“You really loved your plants,” I say. “Honestly? I hadn’t even thought about mine until just now.”

“Course you didn’t.” He hesitates. “Hey. How come you didn’t hit me last night?”

“What?” I ask, startled.

“When I hit you. I know I socked you pretty good back there. It just don’t seem like you. I thought you was gonna hit me back.”

I shake my head. “Why would I want to hit you?”

“Cause I deserved it. Cause I was askin’ for it. There’s been plenty of times over the years when you wanted to hit me and you couldn’t. You know it’s true.”

“Maybe,” I say. “And maybe last night was another one of those times.”

He sighs. “You know what I mean.” I do, and I know that this is as close as I’m ever likely to get to an apology from him, which is fine with me.

“What good would it do, though?” I ask him seriously. “Make me feel good for a few seconds? Hitting people isn’t gonna help me right now. Especially not you.”

“Since when are you the peacenik?”

“Since them.” I point at the camera. “They already think I’m dangerous. They’re just waiting for me to prove them right.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he says, clapping a hand to his face. “I didn’t even think about that, man.”

“You weren’t thinking. I know. But next time you try to lay me out? Don’t expect to be so lucky.”

He offers a wry grin and then peers at me closely. “Homer, you okay? You’re looking kinda flushed.”

I touch the back of my hand to my own forehead. I don’t need a thermometer to tell me that I’m burning up. “Goddammit.” Whispering another string of profanity under my breath, I locate the sign I put out for the camera last night, flip it over, and scrawl a new message. “HOMER NEEDS A DOCTOR NOW.”

“How you feelin’?” he asks, concerned.

“It’s probably a virus,” I say. “Same thing as Rachel, I bet. Our immune systems must be fucked now.”

“Great,” Scott sighs. “So we’re all gonna get it, is what you’re saying.” He collects his mug and starts for his bedroom. “No offense, but…” He tips the coffee to me as he retreats.

I wave him off and retire to my own bed. This morning, it only takes a few minutes before a knock comes at the door and, after my temperature is briefly checked, they walk me in the direction of the infirmary.

I can feel my fever rising even as I wait to be assessed. The nurse gives me a pill and settles me on a gurney next to Rachel, who is fast asleep with an IV in her arm. Her color looks better than last night, which is a relief. I’m not in a rush for any of us to die any more than we have to.

I lie back on the bed and watch her quietly for awhile. She’s always been a peaceful sleeper. It feels familiar somehow. Like if I roll over, I might even see OA on the other side of my wall, also fast asleep, with her flaxen hair falling over the pillow, fists clutching at her blanket, turning toward me as if she wants to melt through the glass, like she always does. Did. Like she always did.

If I close my eyes, I can almost convince myself I’m there with her. I’m trapped in an abandoned mine, hidden deep beneath the earth, and if I open my eyes, she’ll be there waiting for me, watching me, just like she always was. I feel a strangely deceptive peace spreading through my chest.

“Homer!”

I open my eyes. Rachel is staring back at me.

“Heyyyy,” I say, offering as much of a grin as I can muster under the circumstances even though my body still aches all over.

“Not you, too.” She’s not impressed. Her head thuds back on the pillow.

“How are ya feelin’, patient zero?”

“Better,” she says. “Guess I was really out of it last night, huh?”

“You gave Scott a scare,” I agree. I touch my face and wince. It still hurts a little where he decked me. “The rest of us, too.”

“Yeah. I remember what I told you though.”

I fix my attention on her and lick my lips. “Did you have another NDE?”

She shakes her head. “Mmm-mmmm.” She thinks about it for a moment. “But… I think something is connecting. You know? It’s almost like the fever pushed me over the edge. I _know_ what to do. I think… maybe I know how to do it again.”

I glance around. I don’t see any cameras or anyone close enough to hear. “How?” I ask, moving my lips without sound.

“Movements,” she replies, silently. “If I focus, if I try, I think…” She shakes her head. “I can’t explain it,” she says out loud. “But I can-“ Talking again triggers a coughing fit, which summons a nurse from the next room. By now, I know better than to expect the nurse to do anything to help us other than what she’s ordered to do. I lie back on my own gurney and wait for Rachel’s cough to pass. I’m good at waiting. I’ve had a lot of practice.

But right now, I don’t want to wait. I feel the swelling of emotion inside me once again, the longing, the impatience. The frustration. I’ve gotten used to being passive because I have to be, to trying to accept all the shitty hands that fortune has dealt me. And I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being useless. I’m sick of being controlled. I’m sick of losing. I want to reach her. I _need_ to reach her. I need to _save_ her. Whatever it takes.

I’m willing to believe in the impossible, if it will get me even a little bit closer to her right now. Because believing the impossible has always paid off, at least where she’s concerned.

Whatever Rachel thinks she can do, I’m willing to try.

Rachel’s cough subsides and the nurse leaves her with a small bottle of orange juice and a packet of graham crackers. “Want one?” Rachel stretches her arm across toward my bed, offering the package, and I accept a cracker to nibble on. I realize I forgot to eat breakfast, but I’m not hungry. My system is still getting used to eating something other than monkey pellets, and I’ve had more than enough food for the last few days.

“Think we can get some coffee in here?” she asks, looking around.

“We can ask,” I say. “You seen Renata’s lover around this morning?”

She shoots me a warning look.

“What?”

“His name is Miguel,” she says pointedly.

“Whatever,” I say, staring back at her. “Look, I know better than to get involved in her love life, even when she’s screwing a guard.”

“Her _love_ life?” Rachel asks with a snort.

“Why, what do you call it?”

She leans over, carefully navigating her IV line, and lowers her voice again. “You think she’s doing that for recreation?" 

I nibble at the graham cracker. “Looks pretty recreational to me.”

“It’s a means to an end, Homer,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Really? Cause it feels more like a betrayal.”

“You know,” Rachel says. “For a halfway intelligent guy, sometimes you really miss what’s happening around you.”

“Yes. You have definitely proven that point.”

She scowls, and I’m pretty sure she would smack me if she could right now. I’m probably lucky that she’s strung up to an IV. “It’s her way of helping us, asshole. You know what her power is. She’s manipulative."

I shift uncomfortably on the bed. “You think?”

“Oh, come on,” she says. “Not in a bad way. It’s just what she does. She’s like OA that way. They understand people. They change them. OA always knew how to get freedoms we couldn’t get out of Hap. She completely changed the conditions of the experiment. I mean, look at you! I remember when you were nothing but this sullen, depressed, bratty kid, like, all the time. She transformed you into the brave hero. Same with the rest of us. We’re all something more than we were, because she changed us. Renata has her own way of changing people for the better.” 

“Fine,” I sigh. “So OA turned me from a jerk into a hero, and Renata is whoring herself out, to get us Chinese food.” 

“Homer,” Rachel snaps. “Knock it off. She’s trying to help, the only way she knows how.”

“Look, you know I respect Renata. But I don’t respect anyone who’s gonna take advantage of her.” Rachel clicks her tongue at that and I throw up my hands in protest. “Oh, come on!” Like we haven’t been over this old ground a million times.

I hear a familiar even monotone echoing down the hall and stiffen. I put my finger to my lips as I listen closely.

“…precautions. This is what I was warning you about.”

“It’s inevitable at this point. Need I remind you that none of this would be a problem if you’d-“ The voice fades out.

Hap’s voice rises again. “-dangerous! You’re risking their long-term health.”

“Seriously?” I blurt out, loud enough to be heard down the hall. Even Rachel looks at me in shock at that. There’s a stunned silence from down the hall. After a few moments, Hap appears at the door, gawking at me like I’m a monkey in the zoo. “Like you’re concerned for us,” I mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

Hap sighs and shakes his head. “I’m not talking to you right now. I didn’t know you were there.”

“You’re never talking to me,” I say. “You’re just talking about me. Around me.” Jeremy appears behind him, and I address the next sentence to him. “What happened to being consulted?”

Jeremy glances between us. “Dr. Percy, why don’t you excuse us?”

“No,” I say. “I’d like for him to be part of this discussion, too. How compromised are we?” 

“Your immune systems are depleted from isolation,” Jeremy explains patiently. “It’s not serious, but we expect that you’re going to have a rough time re-adjusting to being around others for awhile.” 

“Is that all?” Rachel demands.

“Your health overall – well, it’s probably been better,” Jeremy says, exchanging a pointed look with Hap.

He shakes his head. “I did the best I could. And for the record, Dr. Saltzman said that he found everyone to be in much better health than he expected, under the circumstances.”

I feel the familiar anger welling up in me. “Yeah, I think there’s a lot you could have done better with those circumstances.”

“No one asked for your opinion,” Hap says.

I look at Jeremy, helpless. “Does my opinion matter?”

“Well, yes-”

“Then I think that guy can go fuck himself, and I don’t want him anywhere near me or my healthcare anymore, unless I’m the one calling the shots.”

Hap looks stunned and almost hurt, which is ridiculous, because he’s got no right.

“Homer, stop. It’s the fever talking,” Rachel says hastily.

“Right,” Hap says. “I’ll see myself out.”

They vanish again.

“Homer,” Rachel says again in a warning tone.

“He talks about us like we’re still rats in his maze,” I mutter.

“We are,” she says patiently. “All these bells and whistles are just a show. Nothing has changed.”

I shake my head, trying to quell the anger that’s rising up in me again. “I know.”

“You need to vent. I get it. But you aren’t helping. He still has all the power.”

“I know,” I say again. “Hey, I almost forgot. I had to go into your room last night. I saw your sketches. I really liked them.”

Rachel is silent for a long time, staring down at the bed. Finally she looks up. “Those were private.”

“I’m sorry. I needed the paper. I never knew you could draw like that.”

“It’s been awhile.”

“Did you show Scott?”

“No,” she says, a little too sharp. “I told you, it’s private.”

“He’d like the one you did of the plant.” She doesn’t say anything. There’s another long pause. “Rachel, would you draw OA for me?”

“I guess. I could try.”

“I’d like that. You owe me like eight years’ worth of birthday presents, you know.”

“So much for not being a brat anymore.” But she’s smiling. I feel a small bit of satisfaction. “I could loan you some paper if you wanted to try yourself.”

“I really can’t draw.”

“I could teach you,” she offers. “We have time.”

I shake my head. “But we have other things to work on.”

“I know.”

I want to get to her. I want to reach her.

I’m ready.

I have to be patient. But Rachel and I are finally discharged together later the next morning, shortly after Scott and Renata are admitted with the same symptoms. I wave goodbye to them and follow Rachel and Miguel out of the infirmary. We have business to take care of, and we aren’t planning to wait.

Miguel walks us back to the apartment, and before he locks us in, he shows us the emergency call button that’s been installed next to the front door, in the kitchen, and assures us that the security cameras will be monitored much more closely going forward, even overnight. I bite back a thousand cutting remarks and simply thank him, remembering what Rachel said.

The dining chair is fixed, like it was never broken at all. Either they glued it back together or someone brought us a new one. No matter how angry we get, even our destruction is corrected here as soon as we look away.

We immediately head for Scott’s room and close the door. I check to be sure the camera is still safely covered with tin foil. I’m surprised that they haven’t fixed it yet, but maybe Miguel’s influence is working for us. Or maybe they really aren’t watching that much. Or maybe they are and they want to see what we can do if the cameras aren’t on us all the time.

“How do we reach her?” I ask immediately.

But Rachel is shaking her head. “We’re not there yet.”

I sigh, though I know she’s right. “So what do you want to do first?”

“Let’s try all five movements,” Rachel suggests. “Both of us. You focus on getting it right, and I’m going to focus on...”

“What? What are you going to try to do?”

“Keeping it simple,” she says. She looks around, then opens the door to the bathroom and passes through to my room. I wait patiently for her. She returns after a moment with the football, which has been lying forgotten on my floor for the past couple days, and sets it between us.

I nod and we lock eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath in sync, before launching into the familiar sequence.

I feel the frustration of having been powerless to help Rachel, then trapped in the infirmary, and now being locked back in the apartment, watched and studied and supplied and left to rot. 

I remember what Eli said. _I have to be able to control my feelings._ I have to be able to control my power. They think the power is in what we feel. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s more than that.

I take myself back to Hap’s bedroom, to doing the fifth movement for the first time, then leaning forward into OA, inhaling the scent of her for the first time, the feel of her delicate hand in mine, and then the terrible, awful moment when Hap with his jealousy and hatred took two lives in a moment and ripped her away from me. I remember how helpless I felt, the fury that I couldn’t do anything, the terror that he would follow through on his threat and hurt me for daring to touch a woman who loved me. I hated myself and my weakness and my culpability-

Rachel gasps and stumbles back.

“What?” I stop and drop my hands, then look where she’s pointing.

The football is gone. 

“Rach? Where’s the ball?”

“I… moved it,” she says, almost as if she can’t believe it.

She charges out to the living room with me hot on her heels and retrieves it from next to the couch. I take it from her and our eyes meet in stunned amazement.

“You did that,” I say slowly.

“I did it,” she repeats, as if she’s trying to convince herself.

“You did it! Rachel.” I throw my arms around her, squeezing her as tight as I can. She grabs me back, spinning me around.

For a few blissful moments, my world is only joy. I don’t care that the cameras can see us, I only care that she’s done the impossible.

No. _We’ve_ done the impossible. _Again_.

They can cage us, drown us, starve us, sicken us, threaten us, but we will rise.

We _are_ angels, we have powers they can’t imagine, and we _will_ find a way somehow.

“Can you get to _her_?” I whisper urgently in her ear, her hair tickling my face. She draws back and looks at me.

“I don’t know,” she says, her dark eyes widening as she considers it. “Let’s try to get to Scott first. He’s a lot closer.”

I nod, accepting this.

We walk back into Scott’s room and resume the movements. It doesn’t come easily. It’s hard to find the same feelings after that. But I have to try. Anything to figure out the way to her.

I picture Hap and Jeremy chasing after OA and my heart sinks. I imagine her being marched down the hall into our apartment, her freedom ripped away, back in Hap’s clutches with the rest of us. I remember Hap carrying Rachel from the apartment the other night. I remember holding Scott back, feeling his despair and panic as he struggled against me, fighting my only brother, his fear shifting rapidly into hatred. I remember feeling briefly afraid that I could lose his friendship forever. I _feel._

 _Scott._  

I can see his face in front of me, but it isn’t clear. It’s just an impression, hazy and dizzy, of a familiar silhouette lying on his side.

He’s flipping absently through a People magazine. I recognize it by the shapes on the cover. I read it in the infirmary yesterday.

“Scott-” I try to call out to him, but I don’t have a voice here, and my intention is lost in the air. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t see me.

I try to wave to get his attention, but nothing. I’m not really here.

I hear the sound of ripping paper and I jump back, jolted back into reality, back into Scott’s room.

I gasp for breath, panting momentarily. I look up and my eyes meet Rachel’s.

“What did you see?” she hisses.

“Scott,” I say. “He was… he was reading.”

She nods, still catching her own breath. “Yeah. I saw him too. I tried to rip his page.”

Her words jolt my world. “That was you? Can you _do_ that?”

“I don’t know,” she says, her voice rising to a squeak as she shakes her head. “I don’t know. I guess we have to wait until he gets back and ask him.”

“If you’re right - we could get to her that way,” I whisper, leaning in close. “Rachel, if we could get her a message…”

Rachel pulls back from me and sinks to Scott’s bed, her face pale.

“You okay?" 

She touches her forehead. “I feel… really drained.”

“Sorry. You did real good though. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yeah,” she says. I hurry to fix her a glass of the cranberry juice from the fridge and watch anxiously as she downs it. I take it from her and set it on the table, then sink beside her on the bed and reach around to rub her shoulders, letting my fingers dig into her skin, trying to stimulate her circulation. “Mmm,” she says. “I never knew you gave such good massages.”

For some reason, her words make me sad. I squeeze her shoulders one last time, reassuring her, before dropping my hands to my lap and staring at them. I tuck my head on her shoulder instead and she reaches out to wrap her arms around me.

It feels nice. It’s not sexual, just comforting. I close my eyes and relax in Rachel’s embrace. She rubs my shoulder slowly. I feel my anxiety slipping away at her touch. I settle back on Scott’s bed and she leans along with me, not breaking contact. We lie there on his bed, me in her arms, my eyes still closed, relaxing into her warmth.

“We’re gonna find a way,” I finally whisper with determination. I suck in a breath and it shudders on the way in. A tear slips down my cheek, and I hope she doesn’t notice. “We always…” I can’t finish the sentence.

“Homer,” Rachel says quietly. “Do you think it’s possible that we could find a dimension where…” She can’t finish the sentence either, and it hangs in the silence for a few seconds. She finally finds the words. “Where August is still with us?” 

The thought rattles me. My eyes fly open. I wonder how long she’s been thinking that.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “Maybe.”

Her embrace tightens around me.

“I wish she could have met OA,” Rachel says. “Don’t you think?”

I close my eyes again. “Things would have been… different.”

“She could have helped her. She would’ve understood her.”

“How would we find her?” I ask. “We don’t even know her real name.”

“Hap must know where she came from,” Rachel says.

“So we’re going to ask him for help?”

“What about his files?” she asks. “Didn’t you say you got permission to look at them?”

I open my eyes again. “You want me to read his files on August?” I turn to look at her and she pulls her arms back. Our eyes meet, just inches from each other. 

“I’ll read them,” she says. “If you’re afraid to.”

“I’m not afraid,” I say out of habit. “I just…” My voice trails off.

“What?” she prods. “What’s wrong?”

“That was a really painful time, Rach.” They all were, but somehow, the August days were the worst of it, the parts I still hate to even think about. The darkest days, right before Prairie appeared, before I had my own reason to keep living, before I found my own hope.

“But if it could get us back to her?”

“We can’t get back the August we knew,” I remind her. “She’s gone. All right? We can’t save her. Wherever she is, you know she’s better off than she ever was with us.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, contemplating that. “What if there’s a dimension where he still has her?”

“Okay. Maybe. How would we get there?”

“I don’t know.” She sounds deflated.

“How would we even help her? What would we do? Do you want to see her again for her, or for you?”

Rachel sighs and turns, snuggling against my side. “Homer… just stop talking for a minute. Please?”

I oblige her and clamp my mouth shut. I reach up to absently trace the banded tattoos on her arm, draped comfortably over my chest. I don’t want to piss her off, or make her move. I _need_ this. It’s nice having a warm body beside me right now. But Scott will be back soon, and though neither one of us wants to say it out loud, and we’re not doing anything wrong, we also know we can’t do this in front of him. Not right now. 

The thing is, I’ve gone so long without real human touch. We all have. The most human contact I’ve had for the past eight years has been Hap, owning and manipulating my body against my will. His touch had no warmth to it, only cold, cruel control.

There was that short hour of overwhelming and wrong physical connection with Renata, and one moment where I briefly got to touch someone I actually loved, seconds before it all went to hell. But that’s it. That’s all I’ve had.

It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.

My body craves real affection and intimacy after so much isolation. All of us do. It’s why Scott and Rachel have been drawn to each other in such an explosive way, and I know it’s at least part of why Renata is doing what she’s doing with Miguel. But I can’t have that. And it’s even worse because I’ve been ripped away from my own partner. All I can enjoy is the embrace of a caring friend, this peaceful warmth, stealing a few moments alone while we can, healing my soul just a little bit.

“Rach,” I say out loud at last. “Talk to Scott about August. Okay? Before you do anything?”

She sighs. “I know.”

“Don’t leave him out because you’re worried about his reaction. That’ll just make it worse.”

“Yeah.” She’s quiet for a moment, but before she can say anything else, we hear a sound at the door. Instantly, we spring apart from each other, jumping to our feet and separating before the door finishes opening.

But it isn’t Scott standing there. It’s Eli.

“Sorry,” he says, peering at us from down the hall. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

I glance back at Rachel. The bell didn’t ring. Or maybe it did and we didn’t hear it. I can tell she feels as guilty as I do. We weren’t doing anything wrong. Still. “’S okay,” I say. “Didn’t know we had an appointment.”

“Both of you do,” he says. “But if you’d like to come first, Homer?”

“Sure. Why not.” I cross over to my own room and slide my sneakers on.

“Did you want to bring your football?” he calls from the living room.

“What? Why?” I wonder if he saw our experiment on the camera. 

“To give us something to do while we talk,” he says. “Maybe we could go outside.” 

As much as I hate to admit it, that sounds like a great idea right now. “Sure,” I say, trying not to give away how much I like his suggestion, or how apprehensive I am that he even asked about the ball.

“So, how are you feeling today?” he asks as we walk down the corridor. I cradle the ball in my arm as we walk. It feels familiar and comfortable.

“Better than yesterday,” I admit. “But I’ll be feeling even better when Scott and Renata come back.”

“They’re receiving the same top notch care that you did,” Eli assures me. “They’ll be discharged soon.”

“I know,” I mutter.

“The connection between the four of you is powerful.”

Shit. I’ve given away something I shouldn’t have. I twist the football in my hands and say nothing.

“You didn’t give anything away,” he says, as if he could read my mind. “It’s evident in Dr. Percy’s records. He’s been observing your interactions for years. It’s clear to anyone watching you.”

I nod and tuck the football back into the cradle of my arm. Of course. “So are you gonna use that now? To get us doing the movements right?”

“Well,” he says with a shrug. “Everyone here really wants to see you heal someone soon. But I think you need to be healed first yourself.”

“From what?” I ask, though I have a pretty good idea.

“Just from reading your records and talking to you,” he says, “I’d start with all the usual symptoms of anyone who’s been through severe trauma. And even before that, you were diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression in college, weren’t you?"

“Who told you that?” I ask sharply. I’ve never even mentioned that to anyone other than OA. I’ve tried over the years to convince myself that it’s not the reason why my parents barely bothered to look for me when I disappeared, but I’ve never been good at lying to myself.

He shoots me a wry grin. “We have our resources,” he says. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. But I would imagine you’re still probably suffering from the same things, not to mention you also now have many symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, which shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone after what you’ve been through.”

“What symptoms?” I ask.

“Well,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “I can see that you’re extremely hyper-vigilant. We talked about your trouble sleeping. You’re angry – though, of course, anyone would be in your situation.”

I’m not that impressed by his clinical skills. “Okay.”

“Not to mention you’re having completely normal but challenging processes of grief. I know it sounds like a lot to be addressed, but you’re also very resilient. If anyone can get better, you can.”

“I don’t know how.” I only know one way to heal people, and I don’t think it’s going to work in this case. 

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“You,” I say. “Really.” 

“Well,” he says. “You’ve noticed that no one is asking you to do very much just yet.”

“I guess.”

“This is the priority. We’re going to take care of you first. Then we’ll see where we go from there, with all five of you.” 

“Five?” I ask with dread.

“Yes. We’re planning to do some work with Prairie as well.”

I stop in my tracks. “You are?” The words catch in my throat, and my voice cracks.

“Jeremy said he promised that you’d be updated. This is the update. We’re going to start assessing her.”

“What does that mean?” I demand.

“It means,” he says gently, “that we’re evaluating how she’s doing. Trying to help her with similar emotional therapy to what we’re giving you. And ultimately, we’ll decide at what point she needs to be brought in.”

I want to ask him if he’s going to be evaluating how much I’m going to kick their asses if they lay a hand on her. I feel the wolf rising. I choke it back, trying to force a more puppy-like response. “You can’t. She was in the news. People will notice if she disappears again. Not like the rest of us.” 

“Yes,” he says. “That’s why we’re keeping our distance until we get a better read on her situation.” 

“And you won’t let me see her.”

“Homer, I know how much you care about her, but that’s a no.” His voice is full of regret, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to hit him along with everything and everyone else keeping us apart. I clench my fingers around the football instead. We’ve reached the entrance to the courtyard, and he opens the door, gesturing outside. I walk out into the cool bright sunshine, squinting at the sky. “Hey. You still know how to toss that thing?”

It all comes back. I turn the ball in my hands, settling the laces comfortably between my fingers, draw it back, and snap it towards Eli, who catches it easily and returns the toss. The ball sails back into my arms. I cradle it again, not wanting to let it go.

“You’re the one going to see her?” I ask him on a hunch. He hesitates, then nods. I feel a brief twinge of satisfaction that I was right. “Can you give her a message?”

“You know I can’t,” he says. “You know, there was a debate about whether I should even tell you. Some of the team members worried that you might be a bit… irrational.”

“’Some of the team members’,” I mimic him. “You’re talking about Hap.”

Eli sighs. “Look. I can’t imagine what you’re going through-”

“No,” I snap. “You can’t. No one can.”

“Honestly?” he says. “It’s perfectly rational for you to be upset.”

“Yeah,” I mumble, turning the football over in my hands. “I like to think I’m a pretty rational guy.”

Eli actually laughs at that, then sobers. “What I can promise you is that I’m not going to hurt her. I’m going to try my best to help her.”

Sure. Like he’s helping me. “You can help her by keeping her away from all this,” I say, gesturing at the courtyard.

“Maybe I will,” he says. “We’ll see.”

“Hey,” I say suddenly. “Eli. Is that short for Elijah?”

“No,” he says. “Elias, actually.”

I squint at him. “You ever been in love, Elias?”

He looks at me, trying to contain his surprise, and coughs. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. You being so friendly and all. I thought we could share.” And I’m feeling emboldened by his casual, friendly nature, which I think is the point. And it’s also why I want to jab the knife back at him.

“I’d like to think so,” he says finally. “Are you in love with Prairie?”

“Yeah,” I say, staring at the football in my hands. There’s no point in lying, to him or to myself. “Yeah, I am.” I look up at him. “And that’s why you better be serious about helping her. She’s not free any more than I am. We’re still back in that lab, all of us. None of us will ever really leave it. 

“So what does she need?” he asks gently. “No one understands that better than you do. Please, Homer. I genuinely want to know.”

“She needs space,” I say, turning the football over again. “And light. And air. All the things Hap took away from her. From all of us. She needs friendship. Someone who believes her. Because her whole life those people medicated her when they didn’t believe the things she said, and now the things she really needs to talk about are going to make even less sense.” I stop and take a deep breath. I didn’t mean to say all that. “But she’s not a liar,” I add weakly.

I pull the football back again and Eli stretches out his arms. Instead, I send the ball sailing across the yard, as hard as I can away from us. I can’t throw like I used to, but it’s not a terrible toss, given that it’s my first real try in years and my muscles are out of shape. The football bounces across the grass and rolls to a halt.

Eli jogs across the yard, chasing after it, and scoops it from the ground. I offer a tight smile as he turns back to me.

“You know,” he calls as he strolls back, “that’s one of the things I really respect about you, Homer. Your unpredictability.”

“Yeah?” I ask. “What’s that mean?”

“You’ve been locked up all these years, but you still maintain your independence somehow.” He tosses the football back at me, not a planned spiral but a casual chunk in the air, and it spins toward me, out of control. I stretch my arms and manage to snatch it out of a tailspin. I tuck it under my arm without missing a beat. “Just like with your movements. All five of you. All that work. You persevered somehow and found a completely unexpected way to try to win your freedom.”

“Lot of good it did us,” I point out, a little too fast.

He doesn’t disagree with me. He can’t. “Every aspect of your life was controlled for years. Your choices were taken away. Anyone else would have been broken or given up. Not you.”

“I gave up,” I say weakly. “Sometimes. You make it sound like some noble quest. It wasn’t. I fucked up. Lots.” There’s so much I wish I’d done that I couldn’t bring myself to do. I think about all the times I failed. The times I made the wrong decision. The times I didn’t think of a better answer, until it was too late. 

“But you survived,” Eli says with more intensity. “And you kept trying, and you did something remarkable. Something amazing. That’s the part that makes you a hero.”

I stare at him. “If I was a hero, I wouldn’t be your prisoner while the girl I love is out there on her own.”

“You aren’t my prisoner.”

“Come on.” I scoff at him before chucking the football back. He stretches to catch it but fumbles, and the ball scurries away. I get a small twinge of satisfaction watching him scramble to retrieve it. “Just cause I get a toilet and a football to fuck around with? I still can’t leave. You know that.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “But it isn’t my decision to keep you here. I wish it was.”

“Sure, man,” I say, feeling tired. “You’re doing it for the paycheck. Got it. Heard that one before.”

“I know it doesn’t make it any easier on you, but this work will change the world.”

I’m silent for a long moment. “It already has changed it,” I say finally. “My world, anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

What is there even to say to that? He holds the football up and I automatically set myself to catch it. He throws it a few feet to the side so I have to run for it. I still catch it effortlessly before slowing to a halt.

“I want to go back now,” I announce.

Eli nods and we head back in the direction of the apartment. We’re silent as we walk. I squeeze the football between my hands. It’s not until we reach the door that he turns to me again.

“I promise you,” he says, fixing me with a look. “I’ll do anything I can for her.”

“You could stay away from her,” I offer.

He gives me a tight smile. “I think we both know that’s not on the table.”

“Then you can go fuck yourself with the rest of them as far as I’m concerned.”

I regret the words as soon as I’ve said them. I know I’m letting the wolf out. But his look is tinged with pity, not fear, as he opens the door for me.

“Don’t let your anger stop you from seeking help where you can get it,” he says.

I blink at him and say nothing. I step inside and he follows me.

“Rachel?” he calls. She glances up from where she’s curled on the sofa scribbling in her sketchbook. She snaps it shut and climbs to her feet. “Why don’t you bring your drawings?”

I want to shout at her not to trust him, but it wouldn’t do any good. She already knows. She nervously clutches the notebook to her chest and follows Eli out the door.

I settle back on the couch, still hugging the football, and turn on ESPN. I remember when the St. Louis teams used to matter so much to me. Things were simpler then. I thought things like that were important. Winning my own football championship was, I thought, going to change my life forever. Instead all I had to show for it in the end was a worthless piece of metal that gathered dust in a cabinet for over a year before getting washed away forever, deep below the earth’s surface. In the end, it was the losing game, not the winning one, that sealed my fortune. Just not in the way I wanted.

I think back to that Homer Roberts, to the young, cocky, asswipe of a kid who was dragged into Hap’s basement, kicking and screaming and terrified.

He fought so hard to escape at first. He’d assumed he would always be free. He had no reason to think he wouldn’t be. He didn’t know what was coming.

I don’t know if he would recognize me now.

Right now, the only thing that matters to me is a girl in Michigan and the forces that are assembling themselves around her, and how in the world I’m supposed to help her from here, when all I have to work with is a girl who can barely make a football jump through a wall.

I know we can do something, because we _have_ to do something. I just don’t know yet what it is.


	10. Variables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homer and Renata are tested in a new phase of the agency’s experiment, where Homer finds himself facing off against Hap as well as his own inner demons. Scott reveals a secret he can’t bring himself to keep.

It feels strange, having the entire apartment to myself for a couple hours.

I leave the TV on, for background noise so I don’t feel so alone, but there’s nothing on worth watching. I try to do my own morning class, but it’s not the same without the others huffing and joking and begging me for mercy. I stop after my floor work and fall back onto the sofa, hugging my football again.

Even with the blaring television, I’m still creeped out by the intense quiet of the apartment. I miss the occasional sounds of breathing and coughing and farting from the others, sounds which have always reminded me that I was never alone, even in silence.

After a little while, I hear a sound at the door and look up. It’s probably too soon to be Rachel. Sure enough, Scott and Renata stroll back into our apartment together, the door closing quickly behind them.

I don’t even try to hide the relieved smile spreading across my face. It’s over. Everyone is healthy and recovered. We survived again. We’re okay, for now, anyway. Scott heads for the kitchen to grab a drink, and Renata waves a quick, affectionate greeting at me before heading to her room.

I drop the football on the sofa and spring up, joining Scott in the kitchen. I scoot around the open door of the fridge, trying to conceal myself from the cameras as the sound of a guitar slowly wafts out to us from Renata’s room.

“Where’s Rach?” he asks. “She go back to bed?”

“Naw, therapy,” I say. I put my hand up to stop him from closing the fridge. “Listen. She and I tried something this morning. Our own experiment.”

He senses my tone and pauses, his hand on the Dr. Pepper bottle. “Yeah?”

“Did your paper rip?”

His eyes bug out slightly. “How-?”

“That was her,” I hiss. I feel the excitement rising in me at his confirmation. “ _She_ did that, while we did the movements. It’s true. I watched her do it.”

“What the fuck are you people up to now?” he mutters, but he looks sufficiently impressed. He closes the fridge door and pulls a glass out of the cupboard, pouring the soda. I follow him, positioning myself with my back to the camera.

“We did two tests,” I whisper. “She passed both. She can do it now. Scott. Do you get what this means?”

He places the bottle back in the fridge and rubs his eyes. “It means you’re both fuckin’ crazy.”

“Yeah,” I say, allowing myself a small grin. “That’s right, it does.”

He glances around. “Come on.” I follow him back into his room where he closes the door. I check the camera reflexively. It’s still covered. “So. You’re telling me she ripped a page of a magazine in my hands, from another room, way across the building.”

“My football, too,” I say, excited. “It was here in the room with us, and then she moved it out to the couch. Just like that.” I snap my fingers.

“That ain’t gonna get us out of here,” he warns. “You know those doors ain’t made out of a magazine.”

I shake my head. “But it’s a start, don’t you see?

“We’re gonna need more. A lot more.”

“I know. But-”

The doorbell rings and I jump. We exchange a look and I leave Scott in the room to go answer it. I immediately wish I hadn’t.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too,” Hap says as he brushes past me into the apartment. I close the door behind him.

“I didn’t say you could come in.”

“And I don’t need to ask here, any more than I ever have. Now that you’re all better, we need to talk about today’s experiment.”

I don’t even know where to begin. I fold my arms and lean against the door as Scott and Renata emerge from their rooms. I know the sound of Hap’s voice is enough to put any of us on edge.

“I realize that the idea of having to make small talk with us is a new concept, Hap, but you could least ask if we’re okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Dr. Saltzman told me that everyone was recovered and we had his approval to move on.”

“I’m glad you cared enough to ask someone.” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Renata joins me by the door, standing at my side, showing him that we’re united. Or maybe she’s just standing there in case I lose my shit on Hap. Either way, her presence emboldens me. “You did this to us, you know,” I continue. “Our immune systems are shot to hell, because of what you did to us.”

“It’s a side effect,” he says, annoyed. “Yes. You’ll get sick some now, because you haven’t been exposed to real germs for so long.”

I shake my head, disgusted. “I’ll never understand you.”

“I’m not here for your understanding,” he says. “I’m here to ask for volunteers.”

Scott barks out a laugh. “Wait, you’re serious?" 

Hap continues as if he hadn’t heard him. “I need two of you for a couple hours. I don’t care who.”

The three of us glance at each other. Is this a trick?

“Why would we go with you?” I ask carefully.

“You agreed to participate in the study, and I’m still the lead researcher,” he says. “That hasn’t changed.”

“No kidding?” I ask. “Cause it doesn’t seem like those other guys respect you that much.”

He fixes me with a stare. “The project doesn’t proceed without me, and if it doesn’t proceed, there’s no point in keeping you around to talk about it. You wouldn’t be the first subjects terminated in this study, you know.”

I’ve always known that, but to hear him state it so bluntly still chills my blood.

“Does Jeremy know you’re here?” Renata asks, cutting in.

“Yes,” Hap says. “Everything is done with Jeremy’s permission now.” I hear a twinge of irritation in his voice, which is mildly satisfying.

“Termination included, I assume,” Scott mutters.

“Don’t be so glib,” Hap snaps, with an unusually vicious tone. “I found you in a gutter. You would have died a long time ago if it wasn’t for me.” Scott’s face goes blank and I feel the wolf rising within me again. 

“Really, Hap?” I ask. “Really? Because I could say the same thing to him.” Hap turns to fix me with an icy stare.

“Face it,” Hap says. “None of you had worthwhile lives before this. I chose you because I knew you would be forgotten. And you were. All of you.”

I feel a heat burning in me at his words, because I know deep down that they’re true. No one looked hard for any of us. None of us were in the news. None of us were considered anything other than deadbeat runaways - except for Prairie, and only because of her handicap. In his eyes, that makes all of us fundamentally worthless to everyone, except for him. 

“Fine,” I say with a shrug, trying as hard as I can to push the wolf back down. “If we’re so disposable, then you pick today. It’s not like we matter.”

“Whatever,” Hap says. “Homer, Renata. Come with me then.” 

She and I exchange a glance and she shrugs. I offer a jaunty wave to Scott, more as a “fuck you” to Hap than anything else, and we follow him out of the apartment and through the corridors of the building.

Renata reaches out and finds my hand as we walk along. I squeeze hers back. Hap notices and casts a subtle look of disapproval, but he says nothing. He doesn’t need to. I know what he’s thinking, and I don’t care. It’s a show of our unity against all of this, and I’m not letting go.

He leads us into a room where Jeremy is waiting, holding a clipboard, two assistants at his side. “You sent this joker, Jeremy?” I ask him.

Jeremy is apologetic. “He’s part of today’s experiment.”

I heave a sigh as I finally release Renata’s hand and flop down in one of the chairs. “Whatever. Let’s just get on with it.”

“Okay. Here’s how this is going to work,” Jeremy says. To his credit, he looks mildly unnerved by my attitude. “You’re each going to be in a separate room. You’ll see a monitor. The screen is going to give you instructions. We’ll tell you to do the movements by showing you a number of a movement and then counting down to three before you start that movement. If you see a red light, stop moving.”

“How long do we have to do this?” I ask, looking at Renata.

“Today’s experiment should last about two hours.”

I roll my eyes upward.

Jeremy fixes me with a look. “Homer, something you’d like to share?”

“Yeah,” I say. “What’s the point?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The movements. They’re not gonna work if we can’t see each other. The timing has to be precise.”

“Perhaps. We’re going to monitor that. It’s part of the experimental condition.”

“Great,” Renata says, her tone saying otherwise.

One of the assistants leads me into the small empty room. There’s nowhere to sit. All I can see is a camera fixed on the ceiling and a mirror along the wall, and the screen across from it. I assume someone’s watching me, recording me, waiting to see what I’ll do.

I take a deep breath and then, with determination, I flip my middle fingers at both the camera and the mirror, before turning to face the monitor and shaking each of my limbs out in turn, preparing to move.

They don’t even believe us when we tell them the truth about the movements. We _know_ what we know, because of what OA knows, because of what Renata learned, because of what Scott was told. We don’t need science or experimental conditions or evidence. We don’t have proof. We just _know_. Still, I settle in for the next couple of hours to give them their precious data.

The tedium is a small price to pay for Scott’s precious bathtub and cable TV, along with everything else. Bedrooms and bagels and toilets. My attention zooms in on the monitor in the room, and I bend my will to it, obediently moving and stopping and moving and stopping at their direction. I try to summon the feelings that Eli talked about, but it’s hard to have much emotion when I’m focusing on a screen flashing numbers and lights at me.

Still, doing the movements brings back the muscle memory, and with it comes the sense memory of the long hours and years I spent in the mine trying to get them right. I can practically smell the faint mildew of the cool, wet rock that surrounded us. I can faintly hear the buzzing glow of the lights and the sound of Hap’s feeding system giving us our daily allotment. For some strange reason, it calms me.

I’m startled when I hear the door open behind me. I keep moving and don’t turn to look, but I’d know that stale scent of cigarettes anywhere. I feel my jaw tightening as I swoop through the movement.

Hap walks in to my sightline, leans against the wall, and folds his arms.

“Keep going,” he says in a measured tone.

I look at the screen, but nothing has changed. It’s only giving the same cues. I start moving again, trying to ignore the shithead standing in front of me.

“She’s better off without you, you know,” he says suddenly.

“No shit, she’s better off without either of us,” I mutter.

“I don’t disagree.”

“Why’d you really do it, Hap?” _Down, up, bend_ … “Let her go like that? Was it because you knew she’d always choose me over you?”

“One of us was faithful to her.”

I steel myself into the movements, feeling the anger boiling up inside me even as I do. I know it’s wrong, I know nothing will work like _this_ , but I can’t help it.

“Why were you holding Renata’s hand back there?” Hap asks.

I shake my head as my hands beat against my chest. “You wouldn’t understand.” _Two, three, four. Go._

“Why not?”

“Because,” I say, taking a deep breath as I dip down. “Even worthless rats know they need each other to survive. You’re just a cockroach. You’re all alone, and you always will be.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Homer,” he says quietly.

“Is that right?” I ask, feeling unusually bold. “You know she told me everything, don’t you?”

“I’d be surprised if she hadn’t.”

“Everything. She told me how when you touched her, her skin crawled and she wanted to throw up. She told me how shriveled your dick was-”

He sighs and closes his eyes. “You _would_ make this into a literal pissing contest. But you can’t rattle me.”

Maybe not, but I’m not done trying. “She told me the only way she ever got through it was by pretending she was with me.” The memory doesn’t help quell my anger at all, but it feels good to redirect it at him. “That’s why she’d always beg you to be quiet, you know.”

I always knew she was telling me the truth about that, but from the look on his face, it’s clear that I’ve finally hit a nerve. He takes a threatening step closer to me.

“And where is she now?” Hap asks.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Far away. From both of us."

“Open your eyes, Homer! You don't get a happily ever after with her.”

“Neither do you!" 

It occurs to me that this has to be part of the experimental condition. The feelings. The rage. They _want_ me angry.

But they don’t realize that I’m holding too much in.

I know if I release my true feelings about Hap, if I really let go of what I’m holding inside so tightly, there won’t be any more debate about whether I’m an innocent puppy or a dangerous wolf.

I’ve never wanted to reveal that side of me. I’ve never been proud of it. But I’ve been aware of it, tucked in a dark place deep inside me, for years.

I’m not a killer by nature. When I was a kid, I used to cry about helping to kill chickens on my grandfather’s farm. But if I thought it would help the others, I’d happily put my hands to his throat and end him. I’ve fantasized about it countless times. I’m ready to do it - when the time is right.

So yes. He’s right to be scared of me.

But, not now. Now, it won’t help anything, and it would only hurt me and the others. Now, I’ve got to balance these feelings and the experiment with lies and pretending to be an innocent, wide-eyed puppy they can trust, and it’s too much. I stop, ignoring the monitor blinking at me to continue with the third movement.

“What’s wrong?” Hap asks.

I shake my head and bend down. “I can’t do this,” I whisper.

The door opens again and Jeremy hurries to my side. “Homer?”

I point at Hap. “Get him out of my sight.”

“Dr. Percy,” Jeremy says in a low tone, asking him to comply, and to my satisfaction, Hap slinks out of the room, like the cockroach that he is. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here,” I say to Jeremy, straightening up, “but I told you. We don’t want him involved.”

“The movements aren’t working,” Jeremy says bluntly. “They haven’t worked since the first day. We’re trying to create the right conditions for you. I know this isn’t easy.”

“So you’re going to scare us into making them work? What are you gonna do, kill-?” I cut myself off. I was going to suggest they kill Scott again, but I don’t know how seriously they’ll take me, and I don’t want to put him at risk. “Look, we tried to tell you that it wouldn’t work like this, in a fucking lab. Whatever you want with us, we have to be together. We need to connect.”

“Tell you what,” Jeremy says. “I want to look at the data from today, then maybe we all sit down together. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time for you to take more of a lead in the work. I’d like you to join us for tomorrow morning’s weekly staff update meeting." 

“A meeting?” I ask skeptically. “Us?”

“Sure,” he says. “Why not? And then we can talk as a team about how you’re adjusting here, too. We’ll even have coffee.”

“Great,” I say, trying to put more enthusiasm into it than I actually feel.

As Miguel walks Renata and me back to the apartment, I’m surprised by the suggestion as well as how unsettled I feel about it. All along, I’ve wanted to have more control, to get more information. But the idea of sitting in meetings with them, reviewing the data, sharing our secrets – I don’t know if I can do it now.

At the door, Miguel and Renata exchange a silent look, loaded with feelings. I wonder if they’ve considered using him to get her head in the right place. I hate myself for even thinking it. 

We leave Miguel at the door and it latches behind us a few moments later. Scott and Rachel are in the kitchen preparing a family dinner. I settle in the living room to watch Univision with Renata for a few minutes, which I don’t understand at all but find entertaining, until they call us to the table.

Rachel and Scott have prepared pasta salad and turkey burgers and corn on the cob. Renata switches the TV to a music channel, and classic rock fills the room as we fill up our plates and sit down to a meal together. 

I can’t remember the last time I sat down at a real table for a family meal like this, with an actual family. It’s strange, yet it feels so comforting. Sitting here spreading butter and fumbling with my food, it’s enough to make me forget about Hap and my buried rage and our circumstances. Looking up from my corn, I can’t help but smile as Scott enthusiastically explains his pasta salad recipe to Renata.

“Oh, and that therapist guy took me to the book store while y’all were gone this afternoon,” Scott says casually.

I drop my cob on my plate. “Like, to buy books?”

“No, to go surfing, dumbass. I got some in my room. Take a look later on, tell me if there’s anything you want to borrow.”

“They did say we’d get to start going out in public,” Rachel says.

“Yeah, but so soon?” I ask.

“I want to go see a movie,” Renata says wistfully.

“Maybe Miguel will take you,” Rachel says.

“Maybe.”

Scott and I exchange a look but say nothing.

“I can’t believe they’re letting us in public,” I murmur. “Wonder when my turn is.”

“Make sure they trust you,” Rachel says. “Why do you think Scott got to go first?”

I poke the pasta salad with my fork, annoyed. “I’m trying! It’s harder than it sounds.”

“They’ve got to know you’re not gonna pull anything,” Scott says. He gives me another pointed look.

“What am I gonna pull?” I ask. I tug the baseball cap back on my head, making sure the camera can see my face and my eyes. “Come on. I’m a model prisoner.” I narrow my eyes at Rachel. “What? Stop laughing.”

“You are,” she says, casting her eyes down and reaching for her burger. “Sure.”

I wish she wasn’t so sarcastic. I wish I wasn’t so obvious. I wish I could prevent myself from flipping off cameras and losing my shit on Hap. But it just feels so grimly rewarding when I do. 

After dinner there’s not much to do. Titanic is on TV, which gets Rachel so excited that Renata decides she’s interested in watching it, too. I really don’t feel like watching a movie about people drowning, but I don’t think it’s worth pointing that out to the girls, since they’re so enthusiastic.

Instead, I retire to the quiet privacy of my room and lie back on the bed, flipping the football in the air over and over. It’s mindless and it’s dull, but right now, I don’t care. I need mindless and dull. My mind has been racing too much, and I need to calm it down somehow. 

I hear light footsteps upstairs – apparently, Hap is home – but no voices, no music, and no cigarette smoke. Maybe it’s just the maid.

A knock comes from the other side of my bathroom door after awhile. I catch the ball and stop. “Come in?”

Scott slips in through the door. “Hey man.”

I set the ball down on the bed and swing my legs over the side, sitting up. “Yo.”

“You got a minute?”

I glance at the football, then back at him. “I got all the minutes you want.”

“Did Rachel say anything to you?”

“About what?” I ask, wracking my brain for the conversations I’ve had with her over the last day or two.

“Her brother.”

“Um. No.” I lean forward. He’s got my full attention now. “Her real brother? What about him?”

Scott sits on my desk, balancing himself with his fists. “She don’t want you to know, then.”

“But… you’re gonna tell me anyway,” I say, fixing him with a firm look.

He sighs and looks up. “She had her meeting with Jeremy and got her update notebook. Turns out her folks put him away, cause they couldn’t afford to take care of him.”

“Shit. That’s… awful,” I say. I’m sure Rachel will bear the brunt of the guilt for that, too, because of her role in the accident, but I don’t know what we can do about it.

“It ain’t a good life for him,” Scott continues.

I shrug. “Yeah, I mean, I’m sure.” I can relate. We all can.

“Look.” He takes a deep breath, as though he’s making a final decision whether or not to tell me. “Jeremy told her they can bring him here. With her. With us. Put some of her salary towards helping him, provide staff for him, and resources and shit.”

“Wow,” I breathe. I glance up at him. “That’s… Wow. God, that’s really something.” Having her own brother here, having all his needs cared for. I don’t know that Rachel could ask for anything better out of our current situation. “But it’s still got to be, like, a year away, right?”

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Cause of the circumstances, they’re gonna let her contact her family now. Well, soon. Like in a couple weeks, maybe. If she’s good. If they can trust her.” He sighs. “If we don’t pull nothin’.”

“Oh, shit.” I rub at my chin and take a deep breath. 

“Yeah,” he says. “She don’t know what to do. She’s real torn.”

“Torn?” I ask, looking at him, startled. “Why? Wouldn’t he be better off here?”

“Compared to an institution?” He snorts. “Yeah, probably.”

“So why is she torn?”

“You see the problem, don’t you?”

I shake my head for a moment, then it hits me. “If she does it,” I say with dawning realization, “she’s really committing to this.” Escape would be out of the question. She’d be stuck here. Maybe forever.

He nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says, exhaling. “And if she’s here, I probably ain’t leavin’, either.”

“Jesus.” I study him. “How do you feel about that?”

“I think it’s obvious,” he says with a shrug.

“Yeah. Not to her?”

“She feels like she’d be letting the rest of y’all down.”

“Letting us down?” I pull my knees up on the bed and push myself back against the wall. I turn my face up toward the ceiling. I can’t look at him right now. “I mean, we made a vow, but… I don’t want to be the reason Rachel’s brother has to stay in a facility like that, either.”

“That’s why she don’t want to tell you,” he says evenly. “She don’t want to put that on you.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” I spit. “We all promised to stay here anyway. It’s not like it changes anything.”

“Save that bullshit for Jeremy and his goons,” Scott says dismissively. “Real talk now, Homer.”

“Real talk,” I agree. “We know we’re stronger together. But we also said we’d find another way, and we always do.”

“So?”

“So if it means we gotta figure things out, even with her brother and his wheelchair or whatever, that’s what we do.” I pause. “Couldn’t we try to heal him?”

“Maybe. But that’s probably what they want in the long run." 

“Dammit,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. 

“If we do, then we end up with a perfectly healthy kid stuck on some secret compound for the rest of his natural life without any say in it, cause how are they gonna explain it and send him home like that? If we heal him, he’s not just staying here, he’s a part of this.”

“So we leave him the way he is, and bring him into our captivity with us.” I heave a deep sigh. “Would he even know the difference?”

“There ain’t many people I wouldn’t want to trade places with right now,” Scott says. “But a paraplegic kid in an institution? Shit. You know he’d be better off. He’d at least have her and me around to watch out for him.”

“You’re right. She has to say yes. I’ll tell her that.”

“No!” Scott says in a panic. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“Fine,” I say. “Then it’s on you. You gotta convince her.” I hesitate. “Renata-“

“Already talked to her, too,” Scott finishes before I can even ask.

“And?”

“Said the same thing you did.”

I’m not surprised. “The important thing is Rachel needs to cooperate now, and keep her nose clean. We all-“ I’m interrupted by the sound of a door opening in Scott’s room. Rachel pops her head in through the bathroom after a minute.

“Did I miss my invite to the party?”

“Thought you was watchin’ a movie,” Scott says evenly.

“I remembered it ends with everyone drowning,” Rachel says. I say nothing, just reach for the football and settle back on my bed, flipping it gently between my hands as she pulls my desk chair out, turns it around, and straddles it. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothin’,” Scott and I say at the same time.

She narrows her eyes and looks back and forth between us for a moment, processing, before it finally dawns on her. “Scott!” 

“What?”

“I told you not to tell them.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

She looks at me. “He told you.”

I’m really not that great a liar. “Um.”

“Dammit, Scott-“

“He did the hard part for you,” I say, cutting her off. I gently lob the football and she catches it, looking at me in surprise. “We’re here for you. We’re all here for you. Just tell us what you need.”

She sighs. “I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

I fix her with a hard look. “Come on. You didn’t. Hap and Jeremy did.”

But she’s shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She tosses the football back to me and then fixes Scott with a look as she stands. “You. Follow me.” Like an obedient puppy, Scott rises and trots after her into the bathroom, closing the door. I don’t bother listening to the argument from his room that’s bound to follow. I know, this time at least, that I’m on his side.

I heave a sigh and turn the football over in my hands. This really does complicate things. _Fuck_ , does it ever. I don’t know how we can add Rachel’s brother to the mix, but I also don’t know how we can’t. If she’s my sister, like I always say, then any brother of hers has by default to be a problem for me, too.

The thing is, Rachel’s right. This absolutely makes things harder, for all of us. That’s why she doesn’t want to have to listen to us try to lie and tell her that it doesn’t.

How do I take care of all these people and still keep OA safe?

I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I’m trying to lead a tribe that can barely limp along even on our best days. We all need so much help, and now Rachel’s brother is going to need even more.

We can’t abandon him, just like I can’t abandon the others, but every new twist seems to bring more and more odds stacked against us.

Maybe I need to pay attention in tomorrow’s meeting. Maybe it’s time to stop thinking of our situation as temporary. Maybe instead of pretending to cooperate, it’s time to actually start taking this seriously.

Our only way out is through the experiment, like it always has been, but right now, the idea of walking through that door feels scarier than ever.


	11. The Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The captives attend a staff meeting at the agency, but find it difficult to blend in. Homer is separated from the group and finds himself in an uncomfortable situation.

We don’t have to wait long to be summoned the next morning.

Betts and Lou are at the door to fetch us before we’ve even finished morning class. I take a quick shower and dress neatly in one of my button-down shirts. I barely recognize myself. After studying myself in the mirror for a couple of minutes, I reach for the prairie blue baseball cap and fix it firmly onto my head. I feel better once I have it on. It’s like she’s watching over me, protecting me in some strange, inexplicable way. Maybe she is. Her ways are usually strange and inexplicable. 

“You look awfully nice today,” Renata remarks as I emerge from my room.

I shrug. “You, too.” She’s wearing a turtleneck and jeans. She narrows her eyes at me.

The goons lead us back to the same conference room where we first met with Jeremy. The pasta is long gone, but now there’s a coffee service set up on the counter. Jeremy came through.

In the corner of the counter I see a small cage, with a mouse scurrying around inside, digging at a food dish. I can’t help but smile at it. It’s like seeing an old friend.

“Hey, buddy.” I tap the glass cage and the mouse, panicked, runs into a toilet paper roll to hide. I don’t blame him. If I could hide in a toilet paper roll, I’d do it right now, too. It makes me remember the nights I spent sleeping under my cot with her, trying to find privacy in a world without it. “How’s zombie life?” Scott and I glance at each other before reaching for the carafe. I think I see a trace of a smile in his eyes, but not enough to be sure. Maybe he still finds my humor funny, but he’s on his guard here as much as I am.

I eye the dish of sweetener packets. I’ve never been a fan of sweet coffee, but the sugars are small and flat and non-perishable. They would be good emergency calories to keep us alive if our food ever ran out or got cut off for any reason. And they’re just sitting here - free, unwatched, unmonitored.

I pick up a handful of them, as if I’m about to put them in my coffee, then glance around to be sure no one is watching before sliding them into my pocket.

“Homer,” Jeremy says as he enters the room. He walks straight up to me and claps me on the shoulder. “How are you feeling this morning?”

I shift away from his touch slightly, pulling my hand from my pocket. I don’t like the attention. I don’t like being singled out from the others. Separated from the pack. Thinned from the herd. “Fine.”

“Why don’t you grab a seat over here with me?”

I glance at the others. “I’m good.”

“There’s plenty of chairs.” 

Scott, Rachel and Renata are already sitting down, and I turn away from Jeremy, my heart pounding, to join them. But he doesn’t say anything, and leaves us to drink our coffee together in silence.

Within minutes, the room is packed. I’m glad we arrived early so that we could all sit together in our silent solidarity. We’re surrounded by the enemy. Jeremy and Hap, the goons, that goddamn emotionless doctor, the two nervous nurses. Some of the other researchers that I recognize from the lab. Even Nicole, the cute girl from purchasing, who offers me a tense smile. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and try to avoid Hap’s eyes.

“All right. I think we can get started,” Jeremy says. “Everyone please welcome our guests, I think you know Homer, Rachel, Scott, and Renata by now.” Their smiles and nods feel forced. So do ours. 

“Where’s Eli?” Scott demands. “He don’t have to be here?”

“He’s on assignment,” Jeremy says evenly.

Rachel pokes me beneath the table. I glance down at her lap. With her finger, she reaches over and writes the letters “O” and “A” on my leg, then raises her eyebrows. I nod my silent agreement. Eli is with _her_ today. He has to be. Maybe even right now. The thought of it makes my heart flutter. I want to be there, too. We’re one degree away from each other. We’re so close, but so far. 

“I hope everyone got a copy of the agenda. We’re going to focus today on assessing where we’re at with the project, and with setting goals for the next few weeks. We’re also going to check in with our guests on a few things, including health updates with Dr. Saltzman, as well as accommodations.”

I hear a low, rhythmic drumming sound from the other side of Rachel. I glance over to see that it’s coming from Scott. His foot is nervously beating at the table leg. I bite at my fingers and look away as Renata accidentally spills her coffee on the table and grabs for napkins. We’re a mess. Renata was right. We’re savages. We don’t belong in a fancy meeting with these people. I don’t know who’s trying to fool who anymore.

“Dr. Percy, could you start us out with an update? Tell us what you’ve been able to document as far as our project objectives.”

Hap clears his throat and glances over at us. If it’s strange for us to be at a table with him, I think it’s even weirder for him to see us being treated somewhat like real people. I straighten up, dropping my fingers from my mouth, and regard him with a cool look. He looks away from me and pushes on.

“I trust by now everyone’s reviewed the data from the one successful trial we’ve had here.”

“His name is Mickey,” I offer helpfully, glancing to the zombie mouse’s cage on the counter, which actually generates a couple of chuckles from around the table. I lick my lips, satisfied at least that Hap looks irritated. _First down._ If I can be a thorn in his side, for even a few seconds, maybe I can consider it a successful meeting.

“We’ve also done trials with various randomized participants and also some blind tests on the movements. None of it has paid off. That might not sound particularly glamorous, but we’re slowly establishing what doesn’t work, to an extent that I was unable to test in my private lab. Unfortunately, there are a lot of variables we can’t even begin to examine.”

“What do you think those variables are?” an older woman asks from beside Jeremy.

“Well, as best as we can tell,” Hap says, “it has something to do with emotions. With the mental state of the participants. These specific participants, most likely. It’s more than just movement. We know that much.”

“Have any other participants been able to make the movements work?” Renata pipes up.

Hap looks over at her, as if surprised that she would contribute. “Not yet.”

“But you’ve tried.”

“We’ve done early trials, yes.”

“So when you talk about the mental state of the participants, you’re referring to us,” she continues.

“Yes,” Jeremy says. “At least for now. No one besides the four of you has been able to do anything successful with the movements, and we don’t fully understand why. So for our participants, that’s why we’ll need to talk to you about your perspective. We need your narratives. We need to understand how you came to discover the movements and what you experience when they work.”

“We talked about this already. We’ve told you people everything we know,” I say, though I know it’s a lie. We don’t want to tell them how we found the movements or how we sought living clues in our deaths. Still, the others nod, backing me up.

“What about Prairie Johnson? Would she have more information?” the doctor asks.

“No,” I say, a little too quickly. “She doesn’t know anything more than the rest of us.”

“We’ll be looking into that at some point,” Jeremy says over me.

“She doesn’t,” I say again, more quietly this time. I fold my arms and stare down at my lap.

“How are you going to test this emotions theory?” Renata asks, looking straight at Hap.

“It’s difficult,” he admits, shifting in his seat. He doesn’t want to look at her. No surprise. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the human cost to this work. He doesn’t want to think about us while he’s talking. “Eli will be overseeing that part of the work, and will be working with each of you in your individual sessions. What he does is very complicated, of course,” he explains to the rest of the group. “But I have confidence that he understands the subtleties we’re working with.”

“What about dimensional travel?” Scott pipes up. “Did y’all just give up on that?”

“One thing at a time,” Hap says. “The concern is that once we open that can of worms, we may not be able to even go back to the other questions. We’re going to work our way there methodically, once we’ve documented more about the progression of the movements-" 

“Oh, come on,” I blurt out. I push my chair back, balancing on two legs. “Work our way there? You? Gimme a break. Who’s really calling the shots here?”

“That’s enough, Mr. Roberts,” Jeremy snaps as Hap sighs and shakes his head. “You can let Dr. Percy finish speaking, or you can return to your quarters.”

I slam my chair legs back down and leap to my feet. For one delicious moment, I see them all reel back in panic, Jeremy and Hap included. Jeremy didn’t mean for me to take his threat seriously. He didn’t realize that I couldn’t give a shit about his meeting. _Second down._

Satisfied that I’ve made them all as uncomfortable as I feel here, I pick up my coffee cup and walk back to the counter to get a refill from the carafe. I can practically hear the collective sigh of relief.

The realization hits me suddenly as I stare at Mickey the zombie mouse. Hap doesn’t want us to cross. He’s waiting to see what she’s going to do. Of course. He doesn’t want to leave this dimension any more than we do.

But what if she goes first? Then what? How do I catch up to her if we don’t know anything more than we do now?

“What can we do to move along the approvals for human subject testing?” Jeremy asks. I whirl around to look at him. He notes the sudden alertness from all four of us and holds up a hand. “Not you,” he says, trying to calm us. “We want to test your healing abilities on something a little more complex than your friend, Mickey.” I glance down at the cage and Mickey wiggles his whiskers at me.

“It’s going to take time,” Hap says.

“Well, in the meantime, it’s also going to take a lot of money,” Jeremy says curtly, “and at some point, our partners are going to want results, Dr. Percy.” Partners. At this point I can’t even be bothered to wonder who they are or how deep this goddamn thing goes.

As he talks, I glance around the table. I’m still standing by the coffee, and no one is looking at me. I made them all too uncomfortable. I reach for the dish of sugar packets. All I see are artificial sweeteners. Almost all the real sugars are gone. Then I realize why. Rachel or Scott or Renata – one of them, maybe more – must be doing the exact same thing as me. We’re cleaning them out of sugar, so that we can hoard it for ourselves in the apartment.

We’re all afraid of what could be coming, even though none of us has said it out loud.

Resolved, I quickly sift through the dish, grabbing every real sugar packet I can find, before slipping them into my pocket.

This small act of theft and rebellion soothes my anxiety, at least a little bit. It’s a layer of protection between me and the years of suffering from the restricted diet that Hap forced on us. It’s not much, but we don’t get much in our lives.

“Do the partners want a profit, or do they want a conclusive breakthrough in our fundamental understanding of reality?” Hap is saying. I pour a swig of milk into my coffee and grudgingly return to the table. 

“Was that a rhetorical question?” Jeremy asks, and Hap scowls. “Okay. I think that’s everything. Can we move on to the medical update?” he asks, turning to Dr. Saltzman. “It’s been an eventful week, I understand.

Saltzman nods, glancing at us. “All four study participants contracted a short-duration viral infection this week, which also manifested in an epileptic episode for Rachel. We’re continuing to monitor her for that, but everything seems to be resolved for now, and everyone seems to be recovering well, thanks to treatment.”

“Basically,” Jeremy explains, looking around the room, “their immune systems are compromised from years of inactivity.”

“They were in good health, though,” Hap says, interrupting him. He turns to Saltzman. “You told me they were in good health.”

“For their circumstances, yes,” Saltzman agrees, though he doesn’t look enthusiastic. 

“Well, tell them that,” Hap says, gesturing at us, and I wonder why the hell he cares so much.

“Okay. Well,” Saltzman says. “We’ve also ordered several rounds of vaccines for some of the things we expect they might be susceptible to, and will start inoculation by next week.”

“What? I don’t want no vaccines,” Scott cuts in, alarmed.

Saltzman frowns. “We’ll discuss that offline."

“Over my dead body,” Scott mutters under his breath.

Rachel shakes her head at him. “Don’t tempt them,” she hisses, low enough for only us to hear. I shiver. It’s funny, but it’s really not.

“Everything else,” Saltzman continues, glancing at both of them in turn, “seems to be going well. We’ve reported out previously on our concerns around Homer’s history of head injuries, and he’s scheduled to leave campus for an MRI next week." 

“You think my head injuries make the movements work?” I ask dubiously.

“That’s unlikely,” Hap cuts in.

“No. We think your history is concerning,” Saltzman says. I stare at him. “That’s all. We want to make sure there’s no permanent damage, especially given some of the more recent research around athletic concussions and the impact on the brain.” 

I shake my head and stare at my lap. He’s saying I’m a nutcase. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’ve had so many head injuries and traumas that I’ll never be the same person I used to be. Does it even matter at this point?

The discussion turns to our accommodations, and Jeremy makes a huge mistake by turning to us and asking how everything is.

“Yeah, so, about that? I’ve put in numerous requests for organic dairy products,” Scott says, leaning forward as he senses his opportunity. He folds his hands together and places them on the table. “And unless things have changed an awful lot in the last few years, Kraft cheese ain’t organic.”

Cute girl Nicole from purchasing has a pained expression. “The budget-“ she starts, but Jeremy cuts her off.

“We should be under budget on food, shouldn’t we?” he asks.

“We better be,” Scott says. “There’s barely anything in our fridge.”

“That’s cause you keep eating it all,” Rachel hisses.

“And then stopping up our toilet,” I chime in.

“Hey.” Scott crumples a napkin and throws it at me. I manage to catch it with one hand and drop it on the table in front of me.

“We’re _over_ budget on food,” Nicole says. She doesn’t seem amused by our antics. “Your cigarettes aren’t cheap, either.”

Scott’s not even smoking that much, so I don’t think she’s necessarily right. I’m pretty sure that the real reason we’re running through the food budget is the non-perishables. I’m starting to realize that I’m not the only one hoarding a secret food stash in the apartment.

“We should have planned for this,” Jeremy says. “The restricted diet-“

“I’ve told you my reasons,” Hap says.

“I wasn’t asking you to repeat them,” Jeremy says. “We’ve moved past that.” _Third down._ And it even came from the other team. I’m impressed.

“Until we have progress in the experiment, we should be considering it as a variable,” Hap insists, but Jeremy is shaking his head, much to my relief. That's a variable I'm only too happy to be done with.

“Look. We’re under budget on transportation for this month, so let’s up the funds for food,” Jeremy says. “Please, can we get the man his organic eggs?”

“And cheddar,” Scott says, satisfied. “White, ideally.”

“And white cheddar. Done.” He nods at Nicole, who makes a note on her pad. “Then we have the new travel rotation,” Jeremy says. “How is that working so far? Homer, I understand you’re up tonight.”

“I am?” Even I’m surprised by this.

“Yes, they didn’t tell you? Eli put in a request to take you out for dinner tonight, after he gets back.”

“What, like a date?” I ask innocently. “But I haven’t even done my hair.” I reach up to touch my baseball cap self-consciously, and I hear Scott snort. I’m glad someone finds me amusing, because Jeremy and Hap clearly don’t. Both of them look equally irritated. _Touchdown._ Score for the good guys, the angels, the prisoners.

“We believe it’s therapeutic,” Jeremy says. “It’s clear to all of us that you, in particular, have had difficulty adjusting to being in public.” That shuts me up quickly. I open my mouth and then close it. He’s not wrong, though I hate to admit it. Instead, as if to silently prove his point, I reach for the crumpled up napkin that Scott threw at me, and I toss it aggressively toward the middle of the table, then rock my chair back on two legs and sip at my coffee.

At the conclusion of the meeting, Jeremy takes me aside in the corner of the room. “Nice to see you starting to feel comfortable,” he says.

“Really?” I ask. “Cause I thought that was awkward as hell.”

“Homer. I hope you can start to trust me soon.”

It’s all I can do to bite back what I really want to say. “Sure,” I say. “Maybe once those reparations come through.”

His tight smile and nod tells me everything I need to know.

“Maybe a venture out of the compound tonight will do you some good,” he says instead. “I trust you’ll cooperate.”

“Yes, sir,” I say dully. “You know I’ll cooperate.” I may be mouthy, but I always cooperate, don’t I? He doesn’t look pleased with my tense response, but instead, he turns away from me.

“Nicole,” he calls across the room. She stops in her tracks and walks over. “You were asking me about that equipment order?”

“Right,” she says, brushing her bangs aside with a finger. She tries to force a polite smile. “Homer, do you have a few minutes to come up to the office with me? We were finally approved to get some of that workout equipment you requested. I have a few questions about what you need. It would be easier if we could look at the catalogue and do the order together.” 

Behind her, I see Hap eavesdropping, scowling deeply. I immediately realize why there’s been a delay. He must have tried to talk Jeremy out of purchasing the equipment. He doesn’t want me working on my strength. He’s afraid it will be a risk in this environment. Tough luck, fucker, I think to myself, trying not to openly smirk. _And there’s my extra point_. It feels good to have the upper hand on him for once. It feels good to know he’s still scared of me, but can’t do anything about it. If he didn’t want me working out, he shouldn’t have put himself in a situation where he was forced to hand the whole project to the agency for oversight. 

I glance back at Jeremy, who is waiting patiently for my response. Then I glance at Scott and the girls, who are only a few steps away. Renata is casually poking through the sweetener packets. Of _course_ she’s the other one stealing them. We’re both so practical and paranoid all at the same time. 

“Homer?” Jeremy asks again.

I don’t want to do this meeting alone, but I suppose it can’t hurt.

“Sure,” I say. “Lead the way.”

I tap Renata to make sure they know where I’m going, then follow Nicole out of the room, with Lou awkwardly tailing us.

As we turn through the corridors, I feel a great deal of uneasiness for some reason I can’t place. This tiny girl can’t possibly hurt me, and the idea of finally getting my weights is somewhat exciting. Lou is right behind me, of course, but I’m getting used to that by now.

We stop at the door to the purchasing office. “Lou,” Nicole says slowly, “why don’t you wait out here?”

My trepidation soars, but I can’t say anything. I glance at Lou, imploring him silently not to listen, to come inside with us. I wonder if I can suddenly look menacing so he won’t leave me alone with her, but he only shrugs and settles down on the bench outside the office.

“What is this about?” I ask abruptly as the door closes behind us.

“I told you,” she says, walking around to her desk. She picks up the catalogue. “Here. I think it’s going to take most of your personal budget, but I have a feeling that’s worth it to you?” She winks at me.

“Sure,” I mutter. “Let me see.” I grab the magazine from her hands and flip through. My heart is pounding. I can tell she’s staring at me, and I don’t like the way her eyes are boring into me, looking me up and down. Studying me. Assessing me.

“Is it true you played quarterback in college?” she asks suddenly.

“What, was there, like, a memo on me or something?”

“Not that I got to see. I just heard rumors. I’m not on the research team. I mean, I’m a glorified paper pusher over here.” She laughs nervously. “I don’t think I would have even been invited to that meeting if Jeremy wasn’t trying to put on a good show for you.”

“Lucky you.” I flip quickly through the pages. I want to get out of here. She hands me a stack of post-it notes and I start to mark pieces that I think I might want. “You’re part of the show?”

“Guess so,” she says carefully. “He thought you’d like to see me there.”

My head shoots up. “Why would I care?” I say, before I’ve even thought about the words. “No offense.”

“None taken.” She licks her lips. But it’s not a nervous gesture. It’s something more. Something sensual. Her eyes are fixed on me. She moves in closer. “You do seem lonely, though.”

“I’m not,” I assure her. “I’ve got plenty of company here.”

She puts her hand on my knee. “You’re missing someone.”

“That’s really none of your business.”

She begins to rub back and forth toward the inside of my leg. “Don’t you want to take your mind off things? For just a little bit?”

Yes. I do. I really do. But I remember this part. I’ve been here before. This is the part where logic and reason shut down. Where my reptilian brain takes over, and then I’m begging for absolution. Not today. Not this time. Not these people.

“Did Jeremy put you up to this?” I demand, pulling away from her.

“I don’t-” she stammers. “I mean…”

That’s all she has to say to leave me disgusted. This fucking place. “Forget it.”

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t mean to-“

“What about Miguel? Is he acting on Jeremy’s orders, too? With Renata?”

“I don’t know anything about Miguel,” she insists.

“Of course you don’t,” I mutter.

“I mean,” she continues, “I only kind of know what your work is about.”

“Do you.”

“Near death experiences,” she says in a whisper. “Isn’t that right?” She takes my lack of response as confirmation. “And, like, some kind of technology of movement, something that you developed with Dr. Percy-“

“Not with,” I correct her hastily. “To get _away_ from the bastard. Did anyone explain that part to you? And it clearly didn’t work, as you can see from that clusterfuck of a meeting.”

“Do you think anyone who had a near-death experience could travel like you have?” she asks quietly.

I look up from the catalogue and study her for the first time. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes are peering at me from under the bangs, studying my face intensely.

I gaze into the depths of them, and suddenly I can see it. I see the familiar soulfulness. I see the wisdom beyond her years.

I know exactly what I’m looking at.

“No,” I whisper. “Not you.”

“I haven’t told them,” she says in a low voice. “I got assigned to this division by chance. But now I wonder, am I supposed to-“

“Stop,” I hiss. “Do not say it out loud. If these people get it in their head that you’re-“ I can’t bring myself to say it. “Don’t you get what this is about? What they’ve done to us? Why the hell are you even still here?”

“I have to know,” she says. “There are things I’ve seen, things I’ve felt, that no one could-“

“No. Stay away from Dr. Percy,” I say in a low voice. “He hunted all of us. Sniffed us out. He _knows_. And he’s never thought he had enough subjects to work with. If he thought-“ I shake my head. I can’t finish the sentence. “They could already be one step ahead of you. You gotta get the fuck away from here. You’re not safe here.”

“I don’t want to be safe,” she insists, dropping her voice to even more of a whisper. “I just want to know shit.”

“You do,” I say desperately. “If it’s true, if you’re really like us, you know a lot. But you should also know that this is a terrible idea.”

“I want to be with you all,” she begs. “I want to understand. Jeremy said that you might be angels, actual angels. If I’m-“

“No,” I say. “Stop. You don’t understand what you’re saying.” My voice is shaking.

“Can’t you help me understand?”

“I want to protect you,” I retort. “I don’t want you to have to go through what we have. I don’t want-“

“I don’t want to be protected. I want to be one of you.”

And with that, she leans toward me, grabbing my face, pulling it to hers. Our lips barely brush before I’m shoving her back roughly.

“Homer,” she gasps.

“What the fuck?” I demand.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just-“

“Was that all a setup? Are you lying to me?”

Her eyes show her desperation. “No! I really had a heart infection, when I was in ninth grade. I died in the hospital for a few minutes. There was a glowing man who-“

“A man?” I ask. “Like a guide?” Could there be a sixth movement? Could this be something I’m meant to find?

“He took me in his arms-“ she starts, but I realize with a sudden start that anything else she says can only lead to trouble. For her, for me - for all of us. 

In a best case scenario, she could be an ally, and maybe she could have a guide who could help expand our knowledge and further the work - but she’s more likely to become just one more person for me to take care of, and right now, my plate is overflowing. My tribe is full. I don’t have room to take care of anyone else. 

“Stop!” My voice is sharp as I cut her off. “I don’t want to know anything else! Don’t talk about this, to anyone. Don’t _ever_ talk to Dr. Percy. And stay the fuck away from me. All right?"

“But we’re the same,” she says, and I can see the tears starting to swell in her eyes.

“No,” I say harshly. “We aren’t the same at all. I’m a lab rat, and you’re a fucking kid, who should be somewhere far away from here. I’ve spent my entire adult life in a goddamn cage. I never got to meet my own son, and no one will even tell me if they’re really trying to find him. Meanwhile, the girl I love is somewhere far away from here, thinking I don’t exist here anymore, and I’m not allowed to even _talk_ to her-”

“They’re really trying to find him,” she says. Her voice is shaking as she looks away from me.

“How?” I demand. “How do you know?”

“The purchasing order.” She starts to quickly push aside paper on her desk until she finally finds what she’s looking for. “Here.” She shoves it at me.

I scan it quickly, my heart pounding. I know I’m not supposed to see this. It’s a bill. From a Top Knot Investigations. I glance to the purchaser. BEC, LLC. Is that the agency? That doesn’t help much.

“This is to look for my kid?” I demand, shaking it at her

She nods. “That’s the assignment. They’re not bullshitting you, Homer. They really can’t find them.”

“Everyone is bullshitting me,” I snap. “Even you. I don’t care if we’re the same. You’re still one of them, and I’m still your prisoner.”

“You’re not-“

“So what are you going to do if I try to jump out that window right now and leave the building?”

She’s silent but glances reflexively at the phone on her desk. I shake my head at her, disgusted. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. Her neck is turned toward me, and her arm is reaching out to stroke mine _again_ , and I know exactly what she’s doing, because how many girls used to do this to me in college? Everything was so much easier then. 

And why is it that I suddenly feel like I’m not allowed to say no? I’ve treated her badly enough, and maybe she does have another movement-

No. I shouldn’t have said anything. I should never have even walked in here. Now, if I say no, if I reject her like this, I’ve made an enemy, and I need friends right now, not more enemies. I can't do anything right.

Before I can make up my mind, her eyes are closed and she’s moving in close, her lips approaching mine again.

I allow it for only a brief, blissful moment before I push her away roughly. I can’t do this. Not again. The wolf growls somewhere deep inside me. “I said no.”

“Please,” she says, still leaning into me. “This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

I slam the catalogue on the table and jump back. The force of it startles even me. There's no way for it not to mean anything. Not if she’s really like us. “You think this is all a game! Some romantic fantasy? It’s not. It’s a horror show.”

“Maybe. But can’t I help you?” she whispers.

“No,” I say. “You can’t. It’s too late for that. Help yourself. All right? Turn around, get the fuck out of here, and never look back. Don’t give them your address, don’t ask for your check, just go.” I lick my lips. “Please.”

Tears are streaming down her face now. Mine, too, I think. “Prairie,” she says. “I could reach out to her for you. Give her a message.”

“You can’t,” I say, fighting against every instinct in my body to agree with her. I can’t do that to her, not even to get the one thing that I want more than anything right now. “Your life, your freedom - _everything_ is in danger, unless you disappear completely. You have to pretend like this never happened. You have to forget you ever heard about us.”

“But what you’ve done with the movements,” she says. “Turning desperation into such a divinity-“

“Nothing has turned,” I insist. “Look at me. I’m still desperate. You don’t know what it’s like. You can’t know. You have a chance, Nicole. I don’t.”

“I can’t leave,” she says emphatically, and she reaches for my face, touching my hat, brushing my cheek. “Not until I understand.”

“Well,” I say, pulling away from her swiftly, “then I guess there’s nothing more I can do for you.”

I turn to walk out. “Wait!” she calls after me. “The weights-“

I wave a dismissive hand. If she’s still ordering weights, after everything I just told her, there’s really nothing else I can do for her. “Get whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

I pause in the doorway to wipe my face and try to collect myself before I walk out to the hall where Lou is waiting for me. If he heard our voices, he doesn’t react. He just walks me back to the apartment where I ignore the others and head straight for my room.

I have too much pent-up energy. I take my hat off and set it down on the desk, then I stretch myself out on the floor and start doing an intense set of conditioning exercises.

My door gently creaks open after a few minutes.

“Homer?” Rachel asks softly.

“Hmmm?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“You’re doing burpees,” she says, watching me for a moment. “You only ever do burpees when you’re really pissed.” She knows me so well.

I pull myself back up and shake my head vigorously as I gasp for a breath. “If I wanted to talk, I’d find you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to you.” She sits down on my bed and pats her lap. “Come here.” With a sigh, I land on the bed and lean back, gently setting my head in her lap. Her hands gently begin to stroke my hair, combing it out, her fingers massaging my head.

“Shopping for gym equipment was that hard?”

I close my eyes. “I hate these people, Rach. All of them.”

“I know.”

I open my eyes to look up at her. “They know what we’ve been through. They’re not in the dark about anything. They all know exactly what they’re doing.”

“I know.” She continues to comb my hair with her fingers, rubbing into my scalp.

“They’re not good people.”

“Is this about that girl in purchasing? She’s cute, isn’t she?”

I sigh and close my eyes again. Her hands feel so good in my hair. She rubs behind my ears and I lean into her. I don’t feel like a wolf right now. I feel more like a cat. “I didn’t touch her.”

“So she wanted you to?” Her hands stop for a moment.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble again.

“Kay.” She strokes the top of my head. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Stop,” I grumble. “Leave me alone, anyway. I want to take a nap.”

“Okay,” she says. “Just know that I’m here if you need to talk about anything. You don’t have to put yourself through all those burpees.”

“Thanks,” I say with a sigh. “Same to you, you know. When you need to talk.”

She gives my head a last firm scratch as an answer, then moves it back to the pillow and stands up to leave. 

“Where are the good guys, Rachel?” I burst out as she reaches the door. She stops and glances back at me. “There have to be some left, somewhere. How do we find them?”

“Not in a place like this,” Rachel says quietly. “There aren't any good guys here. You know that.”

I close my eyes. “Yeah.” She leaves and the door shuts behind her.

I stretch out on the bed. At least I don’t feel like punishing myself through conditioning anymore. This time, I don’t have to beg for absolution. But somehow, making the right choice for once only makes me feel worse inside.

_I could reach out to her for you._

_Give her a message._

That’s what I want, what I _need_ , more than anything else in the world, but I can’t put it on anyone else right now. I can't have more lives on my shoulders. I can’t sacrifice someone else. I can't use someone else. Not even for her.

_We’ll find another way._

_We always do._

“How?” I whisper into the silence, but the room is empty, I’m all alone, and there’s no answer for me.


	12. Under the Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homer is allowed off the compound for an evening and tests the limits of his freedom with Eli. Renata focuses him back on his destiny.

I stay in my room, by myself, all afternoon.

Renata invites me to come outside for yard time with the others, but I refuse. I spent enough of my morning on display for the whole base to see. I don’t want to be exposed any more than I already have been, even if it means giving up the chance at daylight.

My friends get the message. They know me. They understand my moods, and I’m grateful for that.

It’s hours before anyone else bothers to knock at my door. I heave myself from bed and open the door to see Eli and Reilly standing there. I stiffen up immediately.

“Do you feel ready for an outing tonight?” Eli asks gently, watching for my reaction. He must know I’ve been hibernating all day. I hope he doesn’t know how much of the afternoon I spent wiping tears away under my blanket.

But the idea lifts me, as much as I hate it. I had almost forgotten what Jeremy said at the meeting this morning. The idea of being out of this prison, seeing the normal world again… “Where to?” I ask cautiously.

“I was thinking we could go grab a pizza and some beer,” he says. Like this is normal. Like we’re just three guys looking to shoot the shit.

“Why not?” I eyeball the goon as Eli dons the jacket he’s carrying. “Do I have to wear cuffs?”

“Of course not,” Eli says. “This is just friends, going out for dinner.”

“Right,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I know who my real friends are. They’re the people who knew better than to knock on my door. I retrieve the prairie blue baseball cap from my desk and pull it back onto my head.

“If you can just stand to the side for a moment, so Reilly can check you over,” he says apologetically.

I heave a sigh and look to Reilly for a signal of what he wants. He points at the wall and I put my hands on it and spread my legs, feeling humiliated. I try to stand still, but it’s hard not to cringe away from his touch. I don’t like being touched. Especially not by him. He pats me over, ignoring my tension, searching for any contraband, before giving Eli a nod.

Friends. Sure. This is how all my friends used to get ready to go out on the town.

We head to the loading dock and climb into one of the nondescript vans. Eli drives, with Reilly beside me in the back seat, between me and the door. I ignore them both, peering out the window, taking everything in, trying to interpret what I’m seeing on the signs around us.

“Where are we?” I finally ask as we roll past the Target shopping center that I recognize from our first outing. “Are you people even allowed to tell me?”

“Why?” Reilly shoots back. “You plannin’ on going somewhere?”

“Naw,” I say with as dry tone as I can manage. “Just wanna know how good the pizza’s gonna be.”

Eli actually laughs at that. “Well, we are in Illinois,” he says over his shoulder. “But not that close to Chicago. So don’t get your hopes up.”

I sit back in my seat and stare out the window. _Illinois_. For the first time in years, I know where I live. Maybe I’m not as far from OA, or from my home, as I imagined I was.

The car charges down a two-lane road winding through a suburban neighborhood. I press my forehead against the glass as I stare out at house after house. I see yards filled with clotheslines and barbecue grills, basketball hoops and “BEWARE OF DOG” signs and hammocks and flags. Boats parked under carports, tire swings, birdfeeders, motorcycles in the driveway, trampolines with tall protective netting, and shoes thrown over power lines. Painted mailboxes and satellite dishes and shriveled up winter gardens left for dead and crooked wire fences.

_This_ should have been my life. Not some thin cot in a cold basement cell, doing morning class and drinking from a stream and falling in love while waiting for one more chance to die again. These homes remind me of everything that I never got to have. Every sign of life sends a pang of deep sadness through me at what could have been, at what I lost.

We reach the pizzeria in a few minutes. Eli leads the way into the restaurant, me in the middle, with Reilly bringing up the rear. They’re not going to give me much of an opportunity to make a break for it, but they’re also trying to look casual to everyone else in the restaurant, which I find hilarious.

My brain replays what Rachel said earlier about the good people. There _could_ be good people here, in the restaurant. I can’t know for sure. What would happen if I suddenly started yelling that I was a prisoner, screamed for the police, or ran for a phone? How would the people in the restaurant react? Would they think I was crazy, like the hotel staff in Havana? Probably. I could try, but it would break my vow to the others. Even if I succeeded and got away, Hap and Jeremy would relocate them before I could get back. I’d never see them again. I can’t do that to them. 

But maybe I could get to Michigan, somehow…

No.

I can’t even let myself think about it, because it’s far too tempting right now. I made a vow, and right now, Rachel and Scott and Renata and Rachel’s brother all need me to play ball.

We take a seat at a table, and a pleasantly friendly waiter hands us the menus. I stare blankly at mine, the words swimming in front of me. The last time I was in a real restaurant I could barely function. This time, I force myself to look as normal as possible, though I don’t feel it at all.

“What do you like on pizza, Homer?” Eli asks, looking his menu over.

I barely remember pizza. “Dunno. Anything,” I murmur. I remember telling Scott in the brig how much I wanted Pizza Hut. This doesn’t feel anything like it.

“Why don’t we get a large pepperoni?” he asks. “And some garlic knots?”

“Sure.”

“And something to drink. You want a beer?”

Do I? I guess so. The last beer I had was probably in college, years ago. Marcus Douglas, Pershing’s star wide receiver, used to throw wild keggers every month at the off-campus rental house he shared with his cousins. That’s where I hooked up with Mandy. I swallow and skim over the menu and point absently at a beer on the list. I don’t really know the difference between any of them.

I set the menu down and gaze around the room. This is supposed to heal me somehow, but I’m not sure how. It may be the most freedom I’ve had in years, but somehow it feels like the least. I’m surrounded by innocent people who have no idea about things like near death experiences and movements, who could never understand the fear I feel every moment of every day, who will never know that evils like Hap and this agency exist. I used to be like them. I was so young and stupid.

The waiter takes our order and our menus, and I slouch down in my seat, still looking at everyone except my two companions. It suddenly occurs to me that Jeremy has tried his damndest to give me what he thinks must be a perfect day for me. A business meeting, followed by sex, with some pizza and beer to wrap it up. How quaint. Unfortunately, none of them are turning out the way he wants.

“So, Homer,” Eli says casually. “I saw Prairie earlier today.”

I sit straight up. Rachel was right. “How is she?” I ask, my voice cracking on the sentence.

He takes a deep breath, glancing around the room. “Not great,” he admits with some reluctance. “She’s having a hard time adjusting. Probably to be expected." 

“No shit.” I lean back in my chair, annoyed and upset. She doesn’t need him. She needs me. “Who does she think you are?”

“Officially? I’m her FBI victim counselor.”

“Really?” I ask, lowering my voice. “Is _that_ the ‘agency’?”

“No,” Reilly says with a gruff tone.

“I didn’t ask you,” I say, raising my voice at him.

“Homer,” Eli cautions me, looking around. “No. We are not the FBI. But I’m credentialed with them.”

“Then I guess she doesn’t know you’re talking to me,” I say, careful to watch my volume, though I wish someone would overhear, just a little bit. “Right?”

“Not directly,” Eli admits. “But I’ll tell you this. It’s clear that you’re on her mind, as much as she’s on yours.”

I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response, so I try to keep a poker face, even though my heart leaps at his words.

“What’d you expect?”

“Well,” he says. “The funny thing is, as much as it’s clear she’s thinking about you, she won’t tell me that you exist.”

“She has her reasons,” I mumble, staring down at the table.

"But she should trust me,” Eli says. “I’ve given her every reason to trust me.”

“You fucking kidding me?” I blurt out, looking up. 

Reilly tenses at the table. “Reilly, settle down,” Eli orders. “And Homer, lower your voice. Please.”

“What’s the point of all of this?” I beg, feeling desperate. I try to keep my voice down, because I know I can’t cause a scene, but it’s hard. “Why are you doing this to her? Why can’t you leave her alone?”

“I’m there to make sure she starts learning to manage her emotions, same as you. As long as she’s willing to participate in counseling, of course.”

“And she’s willing?” I ask skeptically. 

“Not exactly,” he admits. “She walked out on me today.”

I can’t hide the satisfied smirk that creeps across my face. That’s my girl. Then my face falls. “What would have to happen for you to bring her in?”

“Right now, we’re collecting data,” he says. “It seems like she’s running an experiment of her own, with some of the locals in her hometown, mostly some kids in her neighborhood.” The video. _The border._ So she found the people she needed. I knew they would find her. How could they not? “We’re going to see how it develops.”

“So, she’s still part of the study.” I blink slowly.

“In a roundabout way.”

“Why can’t I just go to her?” I burst out. “Why all this bullshit? If she can be out there and still be studied, why can’t I be, too?”

“Because,” he says carefully. “Her part of the study will depend on how much she wants to get to you.”

I fall into silence, processing this. It should have been obvious. I’m the bait in their trap. OA is still the lab rat, the agency is our maze, and I’m nothing more than the big cheese.

I grip the table and fix him with a stare. “Will you let her succeed?”

“We’ll see,” he says.

I wonder how I can stop them.

The pizza arrives. They’re right, it’s not much to write home about, but it’s pizza, and I haven’t had any in years. The beer tastes bitter and unpleasant, but I finish it anyway, because I don’t want to show any weakness. I manage to finish a slice and a half of pizza and most of a garlic knot before my weakened stomach tells me to stop. I fold my hands in my lap and watch the other diners suspiciously as Reilly and Eli work on their food.

“How are you holding up in the apartment?” Eli asks. “Do you have enough to do?”

“Enough to do?” I echo him. “You try spending years in a cage. One time we entertained ourselves for a week with a piece of lint.”

He smiles at that. “See? There’s that resourcefulness. Amazing.”

I don’t like his smile, but I try to mirror it back. “You know what I really miss, though?” An idea is forming in my head. I want to test him. I want to see how far he’ll let me go. I want to see how much trust I have. 

“What?” Eli asks.

“Driving.”

Reilly sits up. “Eli, no way,” he says immediately.

“Hang on,” Eli says. “Tell me more, Homer.”

I try not to get too excited about this first minor victory. “I used to drive my dad’s old Ford F-150. I loved that thing. From the day I got my license, the only thing that made me happier than football was being in that fucking truck, tearing down the highway with the windows down.”

Eli looks at Reilly. “There’s the back road off the exit.”

“Absolutely not. He don’t even got a license." 

“I used to,” I remind him quickly. “Hap must have had it. It was with my stuff. He probably threw it away.” I try to put on my sad, wounded puppy face.

They’re still exchanging loaded looks. “Homer,” Eli says. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom for a minute?”

“By myself?”

“Yes,” he says crisply. “You’re an adult, right?”

I scoot my chair back. “Sure,” I mumble, and walk complacently to the bathroom. I realize once I get inside that he must have already scouted this. The bathrooms are single occupancy, so it’s not like I can be out of their sight with anyone they don’t know. No windows. No escape. I obediently head in and lock the door, to give them enough time to have their argument without me.

I half-heartedly dig through the garbage, sifting past paper towels and tampon wrappers, wondering if I could find any way to leave a note for a sympathetic diner to find. _The good people._ But of course, there’s nothing. It was worth a shot. I’m not giving up. I’m never giving up. Even if I have to bury myself in trash to do it. 

Instead, I wash my hands in the sink and splash water on my face and shiver, briefly flashing back to the pitch darkness of the bathroom in the airplane hangar only a few days ago.

Finally, satisfied that I’ve given them as much time as I can without alarming the restaurant, I give my hands a final wash and shake and walk out of the bathroom. Both of them are waiting expectantly for me at the table.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Eli says, and my heart soars. “There’s a back road about a mile away from here off the exit. I’m gonna let you drive the van. But we’re leaving Reilly here. If we aren’t back in thirty minutes, he notifies the base and it’s lockdown for everyone else.”

“Oh, I get it,” I say. “You’re the insurance policy.” Reilly doesn’t seem to like my flippant tone, but he says nothing.

“How about it, Homer?” Eli asks, holding up the key to the van. I allow a smile to flash across my face. I follow him out of the restaurant, leaving Reilly with the check, which is even better.

“You realize you’re crazy, right?” I ask as Eli climbs into the driver’s seat and points to the front passenger seat.

“Maybe,” he says. “I could be risking my life right now, if Hap is right about you.”

“Do you think he’s right?” I ask as I buckle my seatbelt. “Am I really dangerous? What do you see when you look at me?”

“I do see a fighter,” he says slowly as we pull out of the parking lot and amble down the road. “You’re scrappy, and you’re determined, and you’re dealing with a lot, like we talked about. That can make anyone unpredictable. But I don’t think you’re dangerous. Not the way Hap thinks. You’ve fought for so much, but you’re also smart." 

“Not that smart,” I say with a dry tone. “You never saw my GPA.”

He laughs. “No, we don’t have that in our files.”

“I’m lucky I was good at playing football. I would never have seen the inside of a college campus.”

Eli shakes his head in the darkness. “Don’t kid yourself, Homer. There’s something about you, a certain wisdom. Maybe it comes from everything you survived. Or from what you saw on the other side. I don’t know you well enough to tell.” I consider his words for a few seconds. “So what do you see when you look at me?” 

His question sobers me instantly. I don’t know how honest I can be.

“It’s okay,” he continues. “I won’t be offended.” I stare out the window at the highway rushing by.

“Honestly, Eli,” I say at last, feeling tired, “to me, you’re just another guy standing outside my cage, holding the keys.”

“You understand that I genuinely want to help you?”

“Maybe. But you can’t give me what I really need.”

“Let me try,” he says, his voice rising in intensity. “You know what I want? I want to help you harness your power. I want to help you understand it. I want your life to be _better_ , Homer. You’re an incredible human, with talents we’ve never heard of, and you deserve better. I don’t want you to feel like a caged animal anymore. I want to help set you free from your past, so you can find your destiny.”

“You don’t know the first thing about my destiny.”

“Maybe you don’t, either,” he says. I just stare at my lap. I don’t want to talk about my destiny with this motherfucker. “How are you sleeping?” he asks out of the blue.

“Fine.”

“They told me you’ve been refusing your sleeping pill.”

I shrug. Of course they tell him everything. “Didn’t care for it.”

“People are worried about you, Homer. It’s clear to all of us that you’ve been upset lately. You’re acting out. You wanna know something? Hap even said he thinks you’re angrier now than when he had you locked in a cage. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, no. I was pretty angry about that. Maybe he just didn’t notice.”

“Or,” Eli says, “maybe you feel more comfortable expressing it now that you’re feeling more freedom.” I don’t say anything. I don’t like his assumptions. “Or maybe it’s transformed,” he continues, taking my silence for something else. “Before, Hap was omnipotent as far as you were concerned, wasn’t he? He had all the power. Now, you see him having to be subservient to someone, and it angers you. You must think, why Jeremy? Why not me? If he’s not God, how come I felt like he was?”

“I never once thought Hap was God,” I snap. “I promise you that. Something else, maybe.”

“Still,” Eli says, continuing, “you see him in a position of weakness now, and it empowers you to act out in ways you never felt free to before. How am I doing so far?”

“Terrible,” I say. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m just an asshole?”

He laughs. “I don’t buy that for a second,” he says. “I don’t believe an asshole could have been in love with someone like Prairie Johnson the way that you say you were.”

“Yeah, well,” I mutter. “Hap managed it somehow.”

“I thought you told me that wasn’t love.”

“It’s not,” I say automatically. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t think it was. But it’s not.”

“You two have a complicated dynamic,” Eli says slowly. “I get that. Does it help you feel better at all, seeing him be overruled?”

“I don’t have to tell you what would make me feel better. It’s not rocket science,” I say. “And it’s not that complicated. I fucking hate the guy, all right? I’ve got plenty of good reasons to. You don’t need some fancy analysis.”

“I don’t think he hates you, you know.”

“All due respect, Eli, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know him very well,” Eli continues. “He understood more about you than you ever realized, I think.”

“Yeah, well,” I say slowly, “it’s hard to get to know a person from a cage in their basement.”

“He bent over backwards trying to justify how humanely he was treating of you all in his records.”

“Humane?” I scoff. “Sure. That’s the word for it.”

“He always wanted to be one of you, in a strange way, you know,” Eli says thoughtfully. “He envied you.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, my voice shaking.

“Why?”

“Eight years of being caged and tortured, maybe? Who’s gonna be jealous of that? I dunno.”

“You know, you really don’t understand how lucky you are. So many people lost their lives to this work, and history will forget their sacrifice. Not you. You were the breakthrough. You were the exception. It’s survival of the fittest, Homer, and you’re the one who survived.”

“I don’t want to fit,” I say slowly. I feel shaken by his words, but I don’t want him to know that. “I don’t want to be a part of anyone’s history.”

“You want to drive this car, though.”

I sit up straight. “Fuck yeah, I do.”

He pulls off on a side road and shuts the car off, tossing the keys to me. “So. You ready for this?”

Am I ever. I climb out of the car and walk around to the driver’s side, blinking as I pass through the light of the headlights. All around us, I can hear crickets chirping loudly in the darkness. I settle into the seat, feeling for the accelerator and brake pedals, testing the wheel, before sliding the keys into the ignition.

“Are you ready for this?” I echo his words back to him.

He gives me a grin and clicks his seatbelt into place. “Please don’t wreck, okay? I really do want to make it back to the base alive tonight.”

In response, I start the engine and shift the car to D. We slowly roll down the road as I lightly tap the accelerator. It takes me a moment to feel the movement of the van and to feel my own power. Within seconds, though, it all comes back to me and I gently press the pedal, moving us faster.

“Careful now,” Eli says, but he’s laughing.

I have to smile myself now as I move us up to a more respectable speed. We bend around a curve and I feel the power of the van moving under my fingers as the wheel responds to my pressure. All this weight, all this machinery, all of it bending to my will. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have this much power.

I press my foot down on the accelerator a little more, just enough to feel like I’m testing something, but not enough to completely freak Eli out, and now we’re zipping down the road. I reach up to take my hat off and set it in my lap, then I reach to my side and power the window down. I want to feel the wind whipping my hair back, like I used to when I would drive my truck around the farm.

I feel control. I feel _power_. It’s been years since I felt like this, and it’s delicious. I won’t turn the wheel too far, I won’t speed up too fast, but I _could,_ if I wanted to, and he couldn’t stop me. I could spin us into the trees, I could run us into a wall, and there’s nothing he could do about it. My hands, my foot, my brain is the only thing keeping this car moving. Me.

I laugh out loud at the feel of the night wind hitting my face.

I’m sure he thinks I’m insane. I’m sure he thinks it’s because of my long captivity. I’m sure he’s got me pegged, he knows I must be fantasizing about what I could do. I’m also sure that he knows I won’t. He knows they have me under _just enough_ control, but maybe he and I both doubt it a little bit.

I don’t know if he realizes that for me, this is a victory.

Not a big one, nothing that’s going to benefit me just yet. But I’ve proved something to myself. I’ve proved that, just a little bit, my act has caused him to let down his guard, to trust me enough to take the risk, maybe even to have some sympathy for me and to want to see me happy for just a moment.

Today, I won’t do anything with that trust.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t use it in the future.

“I think that’s about enough,” he says apologetically. “Reilly’s waiting for us.”

I slow the van and pull over to the side of the road. Obediently, I turn off the engine, grab my hat, and toss the keys back to Eli before climbing out and returning to the passenger seat.

“How did that feel?” he asks as he U-turns us and we head back down the road in the darkness.

“Incredible,” I say softly as I pull my hat back onto my head, sinking back into its protective cover. I lean against the window and watch the trees zip past us in the darkness.

“Maybe someday you’ll be able to do that again.”

“Maybe.”

We pick up Reilly back at the restaurant and head back to the base. Reilly climbs into the back this time and I’m allowed to stay in the front passenger seat. I keep my hands folded in my lap, not wanting to alarm them.

When we pull into the loading dock, Eli turns to me. “This week,” he says. “We’re going to set up some time for you to look at the old records from the lab.”

“Really.” I perk up at this.

“It took a while to get everything approved.”

Or censored, more likely. “Thank you,” I say, trying my best to sound sincere.

“I’m surprised you want to see them,” he says casually as we start walking toward the apartment. “The records are distressing to me, and I wasn’t even involved. Dr. Percy’s work is not light reading.”

“Yeah. I know. I lived it,” I say. “Now I need to understand it.”

“Right,” he says. “I see.”

“Look. I remember some of it. Some of it I can’t.” I shake my head. “I need to know everything. It’s important. We can’t move forward until we understand.”

“Okay. Well, once you’re caught up, why don’t we make some time to debrief? To process.”

“Sure. Call my assistant and we’ll get you on my calendar.”

Eli laughs. I offer half a grin to show what a harmless puppy I am. He and Reilly walk me back to the apartment.

“Where’ve you been?” Renata asks as I stroll inside. She’s sprawled in the living room in her pajamas strumming lightly at her guitar. The lock clicks behind me. I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Living on the edge.”

“Really.” She shoots me a dubious look.

“Drinking and driving.”

She straightens up, her fingers leaving the strings. “Are you joking?”

“I would never joke about beer. Or cars.” I collapse on the sofa. “How are you? How’s Miguel?”

“Good, and none of your goddamn business.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? Anyway, just be careful with him,” I say. “Please? I don’t trust any of these people.”

“You trust who you want to,” she says sharply. “Let me worry about my own trust.”

“I’m always gonna worry about you, too, Renata,” I say gently. “You know that. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Please,” she scoffs. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I definitely would never say that,” I assure her.

“Good,” she says, satisfied.

I glance around the quiet living room. “Did the others go to bed?” 

“I told them I would wait up for you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I take off my hat and run my hand through my hair.

Renata lowers her eyes at me, disapproving. “Think carefully about who you call ‘Mom’, young man.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m just feeling frustrated tonight. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Is it the beer?” she asks.

“No.” I casually fix the hat back in place and lower the brim closer to my eyes, until I can’t see the cameras anymore. “It’s this whole place. The experiments.”

She sets the guitar aside. “What about them?”

“They haven’t really been working. But we _have_ to make them work now, and it won’t be easy. I’m scared about how long we get before they decide to move on to the next phase.”

Renata nods, understanding what I’m saying. “You think the next phase involves her, and that scares you.”

"They’re all over her, and she doesn’t even know it. They’re all over us, too. We really need to know more. I’m going to be looking through the records soon. Nothing has changed,” I point out, jabbing my finger in the air for emphasis. “Our only way out is through that experiment. That’s how it’s always been for us."

“So then what? We cooperate?”

“We have to. But I don’t know how much we should.” I lean forward. “Look. She’s way ahead of us. She’s trying to cross. That’s what scares me, Renata. She's finding people now and teaching them the movements. She’s getting ready, because she thinks she’s chasing us.” I pause, letting the words hang in the air. “If she’s going to cross, we have to either find a way to tell her to stop, or be ready to go with her, too. I don’t know. Maybe that’s where we meet her at last, on the other side.”

"Do you realize what you’re suggesting?”

I nod, chewing on my lip. “I don’t think we can wait much longer.”

“You don’t look confident. You look frightened,” she says.

“I don’t want to cross with them,” I say bluntly. “I don’t want to forget everything. I don’t want to chance getting stuck with Hap without being able to remember what he’s done to us. But I also don’t want to let her go to the other side alone.” 

Renata reaches out and places her hand on my arm. I look up at her and our eyes meet.

“The five of us together still have an evil to defeat,” she says. “And we definitely have not done it yet. That has to mean that you haven’t seen the last of her.”

I swallow. “Or of the evil.”

“I believe in what was prophesized for us,” she says. “I believe in what we worked so hard to bring back from the other side. I’ve never doubted it, not since the moment I saw you bring that man back from the dead.” She points at Scott’s door.

“I know,” I say in a whisper.

“I believe in her,” she says. “I always did. And I believe in you, too, Homer Roberts.”

I close my eyes and nod. 

She squeezes my arm. “Do what you have to do.”

I feel her stand and walk away. I wait until I’m alone again to open my eyes again.

I should feel scared.

I don’t. I feel resolved.

I lower my baseball cap over my eyes so the cameras won’t see the look of triumph in them as I walk to my bedroom.


	13. Bluffing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homer tries to experiment on his own, but a frustrating moment of disconnection helps him recognize what he really needs to connect. The captives host a guest for an uncomfortable game night. Another attempt by the four captives to reach out to Crestwood manages to land somewhere, but ultimately misses the mark.

After our outdoor time late the next afternoon, I tell the others that I’m going for a nap before shutting myself in my room.

I don’t want to lie to them, or leave them out. But right now, this is private. It has to be.

I need to be alone with my thoughts and my energy and my emotions to figure out what is and isn’t possible for me to do. I can’t do it with someone else watching me. I don’t want to do it with any of the others. I want this to be on me.

I open the closet and pull out the dirty, tattered linen clothes I shoved in there days ago, the clothes I was wearing when I arrived. I haven’t bothered to send them to the laundry service yet, because I’m worried that they would just throw them away.

When Hap took me out of my cell to force me to be his tool in Cuba, he also threw away all my old clothes - without asking, without ceremony. He forced me into new clothes that wouldn’t identify me, clothes that would help me blend in. In his mind, I’m sure he thought he was doing me a favor. To me, it was as if he cast aside a part of me that day. I loved getting my college gear for the first time, trying out all the clothes I had to wear on specific days and for specific practices and games to show my place on my team.

I lived for years in the cozy, warm Pershing wolf mascot sweatshirt my dad bought for me at the college bookstore, the week that we visited campus and I decided to commit. In another lifetime, all those clothes would have held a treasured spot in my closet, but instead I had to wear them to rags in Hap’s basement, only to have them be tossed without my approval. Just one more dream that Hap ripped away from me. One more decision made for me, without my input.

I hear voices at the vent again and I freeze, still clutching Hap’s rags in my hands.

“You didn’t have to antagonize him like that during the experiment,” Jeremy says. “It looks like he’s losing trust in us.”

“You told me to get him feeling something. I’m trying to help you test your cockamamie theory.”

“Whether you agree with my theory or not, we need his cooperation,” Jeremy’s voice says.

“I told you, that’s a lost cause. That young man will never be under anyone’s full control.” Hap.

“Give it time. It’s all about figuring out what matters to him.”

“Well, that part’s not hard to figure out, Doctor.”

“So then we move forward with bringing her in,” Jeremy suggests.

“No,” Hap says sharply. “I told you. It’s more important to observe her. See what she does.”

“But then we’re left with a lot of costs, and no progress to justify it here.”

“Are we concerned about costs, or discovery? I came here because I thought you people understood.” Hap sounds snippy.

“I’m starting to think this is about more than discovery for you, too, Hap. What is this girl to you? Why do you care so much?” Jeremy asks.

“I don’t like what you’re implying. I’m trying to keep you from ruining my life’s work.”

“It was ruined the day you started murdering people to save your own ass, Doctor,” Jeremy says icily. I shiver. I hate being reminded of how lucky I am just to be alive after spending years under the control of this psychopath. “We’re just trying to help you pick up the pieces. You created a tempest in a teacup with these subjects, by your own actions. Now we have to figure out how to settle that back down. Maybe bringing her back in is the way to repair that.”

“Sure. Five of ‘em, together, with five movements. That’ll end well. Have you even read my notes?”

“Of course,” he says. “But we don’t need a file to understand that Eli is right. No one can control Homer Roberts right now. There is something explosive hiding in him. A rage he’s trying to hide from us. He’s a danger to the whole project." 

“Termination is still an option. I really think we should consider it.” So casual. So dismissive. My hands tighten around the rags.

“No. He’s too valuable,” Jeremy says abruptly. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Eli says we have to get him to understand that helping us is the only way to help her.”

“But that’s a complete lie,” Hap protests.

“You see the problem then,” Jeremy says. “Either way, we can’t keep putting off the question of Prairie Johnson.” The voices fall off again, as if they’ve moved to another room.

I see the problem, too, Jeremy.

I really do.

I change out of my Target outfit, even the baseball cap, and pull the old baggy linen rags back on. I stare at myself in the mirror for a few long moments, reminding myself of _who I really am_. I position myself in the center of my room, take a deep breath, and begin the movements. 

I reach out for her as I move.

I try to focus on Michigan. I don’t know how to get there from Illinois, but I still try to stretch myself, searching for the familiar flame of her soul. We’re too tightly connected. We can’t ever fully lose each other. She’s been there all along, burning quietly somewhere I can’t quite touch. Now, I just have to find her.

The only times that I know for sure this worked on anything more than a mouse, I was standing across from her. What was it that connected us? I felt each of her movements, as if they were a part of me. Our limbs were attached by invisible string, our breathing was in complete sync. I’ve never felt more connected to someone else or more alive.

I suddenly feel a jolt, and it’s as if she’s standing across from me once again, doing the movements, just like always, except she’s somewhere else. In a different bedroom. One with a little girl’s decorations and a missing door.

Her eyes are squeezed shut, as if she’s trying to remember what it’s like to be blind again, or maybe she doesn’t want to open them and realize that I’m not actually in front of her.

I don’t want to disturb this moment, either. I can feel how precious it is. If we were together, _really_ together, I would drop everything and run to her arms like I’ve always dreamed about, but instead, I keep moving. I’m trying so hard to build our connection, but it’s too faint. 

I can feel where she is.

I can feel how far away I am.

She drops her arms and stops suddenly. I continue moving, afraid to break our connection. I don’t want to lose her. Not again.

“Homer?” she whispers out loud. I fight to keep my heart from shattering into a million pieces. “Are you… is this real?”

How did Rachel _do_ this? I continue to move and focus on my football. If I could get my ball to her, send it to Michigan somehow, she would _have_ to know this was real. Is _she_ real? I don’t know, but if I could send her the ball, I would know _something_ was. But no matter what I do, the ball is still sitting on my floor in my comfortable prison in Illinois, and OA, or whatever hallucination I’m having of her in Michigan, blinks and shakes her head.

“Prairie?” An older man’s voice calls from somewhere far away. “Are you ready?”

“I just need to go to the bathroom, Dad,” she answers.

“We don’t want to be late for therapy again.”

Therapy. Is she meeting with Eli? She must be. I wonder how he’s getting back and forth so fast every day. Maybe he’s flying. I wonder if they’re using Hap’s plane or if they have more resources.

She walks into the bathroom and closes the door. I’m still with her. She stares into the mirror. “Homer,” she whispers out loud again. “Am I losing my mind? More than usual, I mean.” She lets loose with a frustrated laugh. 

There’s so much I want to be able to tell her. I want to tell her to ask Eli harder questions, that he knows more than he’s letting on. I want to tell her that I’m real, that I haven’t given up on her, that they’re coming for her, that I have a new plan forming, that she needs to start paying attention, but our connection isn’t strong enough for that. 

I can’t do it. Not by myself.

She presses her fingers to the mirror and closes her eyes. I know exactly what she’s doing. I’ve done it myself every night as I curl up beside the wall next to my bed. I try to reach out, to touch her, but there’s nothing, only air. 

“Tell me how I find you,” she whispers.

“Don’t,” I try to whisper back. But I know my words are lost. She doesn’t respond. She can’t hear me. I’m nothing. I’m not here.

“Prairie?” I hear her father calling again. There’s a knock at the door. “Are you talking to someone in there?” She whirls around.

I open my eyes with a startled gasp and I’m back in Illinois, back in my room. Alone.

Deep inside me, the wolf stretches and rumbles.

I was so close to her, but I still couldn’t do anything. I can’t bend reality enough to make a difference. My fist tightens and I punch at the wall, in a sudden fury. All it does is hurt my hand. I shake it out and take a deep breath before sinking onto the bed.

The wolf rolls over and goes back to sleep.

I see now what Rachel meant. I can barely move. I feel as though the life force has been drained out of me. I can’t do this by myself. It’s just not possible.

I lie still for several minutes, my eyes closed.

It’s possible that I’m losing my mind, too. I’ve earned it, after what I’ve been through. But I couldn’t have imagined the crisp details of that image. I couldn’t have imagined her voice calling out my name like that.

But I might as well have.

Finally, I force myself out of bed and change back into my fresh new clothes. I stare at myself in the mirror for a minute. I don’t know if I recognize myself like this. I don’t know who I am anymore. I shake my head at the thin, old, tired stranger in the mirror before wandering out to the kitchen to poke around for a snack.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks from the table, where she’s fidgeting with a handful of modeling clay. Leave it to Rachel to see right through me.

I try to shrug it off. "Bad dream."

"You weren't sleeping. Scott and I were in his room earlier, I heard you moving."

I wince. I can't fool anyone.

“Conditioning again?”

“Yeah.” I grab an unopened bag of potato chips from the cabinet and join her at the table.

“Uh huh.” She glances at the reddened knuckles on my hand. “What were you really doing?” I shift my eyes, but she keeps hers trained right on me. “Strongest together, Homer, don’t bullshit me. What’s the matter?”

“You were right.” I shift around so my back is to the camera. “It has to be you, Rach. You have to be the one to bend reality. I don’t think I can do it.”

“Why didn’t you just come to me in the first place?”

I shake my head vehemently. “I don’t want to be the one to mess things up for you.”

“Hey. You’re not messing anything up. Okay? We’re all in this together.”

“You’re right.” I heave a sigh and rip my bag of chips open. "But it's getting more dangerous, for all of us.”

"When have we ever not been in danger?" Rachel rolls her eyes. 

"I’m pretty sure Hap is trying to convince Jeremy to kill me," I whisper. “Permanently.”

Her dark eyes widen but she says nothing, waiting patiently for me to say more.

"I don't think they will. At least, not yet," I reassure her softly. 

“Why now?" she asks skeptically. "Hap could have killed you any time before this. He never tried. I mean, beyond the usual."

"I think it’s because they see through me in a way he never did. He never trusted me, but he never understood me, either. These guys, they get me. They know what I could do to the whole project if I ever get the chance. And now he sees it, too."

“We won’t let them,” she says firmly. “If they try to do anything to you, they’ll have us to contend with." 

“Yeah,” I say, reaching for another chip. “I’m sure Scott’s going to fight off four goons single-handedly and save me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “If anyone’s going to fight them off physically, it’s going to be you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, rolling my eyes as I dig into the bag.

She knows me well enough to see through the sarcasm masking my fear and offers me a soft smile. “We’ll find another way,” she says. “Strongest together.”

I try to nod, but it’s hard. “I know.”

“We’ll always stand between them and you if we have to, you know. Whatever it takes.”

“Appreciate it,” I say with a shrug. “But what about her? How do we protect her? We have to find a way to get to her somehow. If they don't kill me, they’re gonna use me to bring her in."

“I guess we have to contact her. I mean, me. I have to contact her,” Rachel says slowly.

“How, though?” I press.

“Send her a message,” Rachel suggests. “Maybe we could write a letter and project that to her somehow. Like we did with the ball?”

“That won’t work. She can barely read.” Rachel closes her eyes in defeat. She had forgotten that. I hadn’t.

“She can read Braille,” she says, opening her eyes again, determined.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling frustrated. “And what can we write to her in Braille? Your name and mine? What do we do after that? We’re still missing half the alphabet. It’s not like we can walk up to Eli and ask for a Braille alphabet guide.” She can write her name in our alphabet, and we can write ours in hers, but that’s all. I wish desperately that I’d made her teach me the rest of her alphabet in all the precious hours we had together.

We have an entire language of symbols to help us remember the first four movements, but we don’t even share a common alphabet to write back and forth. It was never something that we needed. I never thought I would ever be separated from her like this. I never thought I would allow it to happen.

“What if we just wrote a letter to her anyway? Give her some credit. She could figure it out. She’d find someone to read it, wouldn’t she? Didn’t you say she found people to help her?”

I nod. “But think about who else is helping her.”

“Who?” Rachel asks.

“Eli! How do we know she wouldn’t take it to him?”

“She wouldn’t trust him.” She peers at me. “Would she?”

“She might,” I say, frustrated. “She needs to trust someone, and you’ve seen him. We just don’t know.”

“Well, we know we can reach her. Right?” Rachel asks. “That’s a start. God, that’s more than most people would have in our situation.”

“Right,” I say. “But the situation, Rach. It still blows.”

She scowls at me. I’m not helping.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “We have to be realistic. We can’t write her a whole letter. There’s no way. It’s not safe. We have to think of another way for you to get her a message. Something she’d understand.”

“You’re right,” Rachel sighs, mashing the clay between her fingers. “Let’s think it over and talk to the others. But don’t give up. Okay?”

“Strongest together,” I agree firmly. “I know.” I hesitate. “So… in other news…”

She slams the clay on the table. “Oh, God, are you being nosy again?”

“I’ve been really good. I haven’t asked about you guys in days.”

“I just don’t know what there is to say,” she says. She’s suddenly very interested in the clay and poking it into a thin pancake. “We did talk about August, so, thanks for that, I guess.”

“What’d he say?”

“None of your beeswax,” she says evenly, then sighs. “But we’re fine. It’s fine.”

“Don’t be mad at him for telling us about your brother,” I say quietly. “He only did it to help you.”

Rachel shakes her head, looking down. “I’m not mad.”

“We can’t keep secrets like that. It’ll tear us apart. That’s the last thing we need.”

“I know,” she says. “He did the right thing, I guess.”

“Do you love him?” I ask suddenly. Her head shoots up, her mouth hanging open, shocked at my directness. “I didn’t mean that. You don’t have to say – I just mean – _could_ you love him?”

“Why?” Rachel bursts out. “Why do you care?”

“Maybe because I’m bored. Maybe because I’m Team Scott and Rachel. Maybe because I’m shipping you guys.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just – where did you even learn that word?” She tilts her head and squints at me.

“Never mind that,” I say. “Seriously, Rach, you’re both my friends. You can tell me.”

“Of course I love him,” she says dismissively. “I love all of you, you know that. You’re my family now.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I know.” She licks her lips and glances around the room to be sure we’re alone, and lowers her voice. “Okay. Honestly? He’s kind of the only thing I can think about now most of the time. And I guess I like that. It’s a distraction. A good distraction.”

I know exactly what she means. I remember when I first realized I had feelings for the strange girl on the other side of the wall of my cage. Everything changed for me. And then it changed even more. Even if I don’t get that anymore, I want it for her. I want it for him. “He makes you happy.”

A light, relieved smile crosses her face. “He does, Homer. He makes me really happy.”

“The way he cares about you, it’s changing him, I think. He’s like a completely different person lately.” I hesitate. “And I don’t just mean the beard.”

She grins and shakes her head, looking down at the clay. “It’s been a long time since anyone cared about me like he does. I like being the center of someone else’s world, you know? Feeling special? I guess I forgot what that could be like." 

“You’re good for him,” I say quietly.

“He’s good for me.” She looks down. “I don’t know. Maybe I do love him, but I just wouldn’t want to say it to you, before I’ve ever said it to him.”

“Oh.” I think this over for another moment, then look up in surprise, as I realize what she’s saying. “Oh!”

She has a faraway look in her eyes. “You know, underneath all that pointy armor he puts on, there’s something soft and vulnerable down there. Something beautiful, that he usually hides from the rest of the world. Something that needs to love and be loved. I think he learned to hide it before he even met Hap. He’s buried it for a long time.” She laughs slightly, shaking her head. “You probably don’t see it, but I do.”

“No,” I say slowly. “I think you’re right.” I look back up at her and offer a smile. “And I’m glad that you see it, too." 

For dinner that night, Renata cooks for us - roast pork with some bean and rice concoction that she calls moros. It’s all delicious. I try not to think too hard about the last time I had Cuban food. This time, at least, it doesn’t leave me sick to my stomach. I can relax a little bit, safe here in the company of my own tribe.

“Homer, I think it’s your turn tomorrow,” Renata says. “What are you cooking for us?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Um, let’s see. I can probably pull off that box of spaghetti in the cabinet.”

“Pass,” Scott says immediately. “No. Can we please keep that guy away from the kitchen?”

“How’s he supposed to learn, then?” Rachel demands, laughing.

“By stayin’ the hell out of the kitchen, lettin’ me do dinner tomorrow, and stickin’ to the dishes,” Scott says. “I’ll see your box of spaghetti and raise you garlic bread and a salad.”

“I can still boil the noodles,” I insist. I meet Rachel’s skeptical look. “Probably.”

“Okay,” Scott says, “but I’m not leavin’ the room while you do it.”

I heave a sigh. “Fine,” I say. “Dish duty it is. Again.”

We’re cleaning up the leftovers when the doorbell rings. None of us move to answer it. We’ve learned not to fall for that trick.

After a few moments, Miguel lets himself in and the door locks behind him.

There’s an uncomfortable silence. I think he’d almost forgotten that Scott and Rachel and I would be here.

“Buenas noches,” Renata says, offering him a clean plate.

He fills his plate and takes a seat at the table, where Scott is still sitting, fiddling with Rachel’s clay. I continue rinsing dishes at the sink, only occasionally glancing behind me to observe the awkwardness.

“Are we still going to play poker tonight?” Renata asks the room. There’s another uncomfortable silence.

“We didn’t know you were expecting company,” Scott finally says.

“Five can play,” Rachel says.

“I don’t know-“ Scott glares at her.

“I’m in,” I say decisively, drying off my last dish. I walk to the table and collapse in the seat next to Miguel.

Scott shoots me an icy look and I shrug.

“So. You still on duty?” I ask Miguel breezily.

“Day shift ends at six,” he says. I glance sharply at Rachel, but she doesn’t seem to recognize the importance of this. “It was either this, the base canteen, or pizza for dinner. Have you tried the canteen? This is much better.”

“Yeah, and that pizza place in town blows,” I agree, though my mind is still fixed on the ramifications of what he just said. “I don’t blame you.”

“So in your free time,” Scott says, “you just, what? Decide to come hang out with the prisoners?”

“You met those other guys who work here?” Miguel asks. “You wanna go hang with Lou?”

“Nah,” Scott says, “but then, I’m their prisoner, so.”

“What he meant to say,” I say, shooting Scott a pointed look, “was that it seems pretty brave of you to mess with the social order round here. Jeremy doesn’t have anything to say about that?" 

“There’s no restriction on our interactions with you,” Miguel says. “You’re part of the base team. Just like anyone else.”

“Except for the part where we ain’t allowed to leave,” Scott says, rolling the words out for emphasis.

Miguel shrugs. “Yeah. Sure. I’d get in trouble if I took you off base unsupervised.”

“So, Miguel, tell us. How’d you come to work for some fly-by-night private organization running illegal experiments?” I ask casually.

“Didn’t have too many options,” he says. “With my record.”

“Record?” Scott asks. “What, like, prison?” Miguel’s silence is the answer. “What’d you do?”

“Pled guilty,” he says simply, making it clear we aren’t going to get much more out of him than that.

“So, you know what it’s like, then,” I say, reaching for the cards. I cut the deck and tap them on the table before shuffling.

“I do,” he agrees. “I also know what it’s like to have to do something you don’t like, because if you don’t, your family might regret it.”

I look up sharply from the cards. “Here?” I ask. “That’s how they keep you here?”

“You people definitely got a nicer set-up than state prison,” is all that he says. He’s not going to answer that question, either.

“Sure. Except for the part where our families don’t even know where we are,” I continue evenly. “And we can’t tell them.”

“Or the part where we get tortured and experimented on by a mad scientist,” Scott says, his voice crisp. “Betcha didn’t have to deal with that when you was locked up.”

Renata, who’s been watching from the living room silently, finally decides she’s had enough and walks over to interfere in this interaction between her men. “It’s not a competition.”

“I don’t like this fucker pretending like he’s got anything in common with us,” Scott complains loudly.

Miguel pushes back his chair and stands. “Okay,” he says. “I was just leaving.”

Renata grabs at his arm. “Wait.”

“Don’t listen to him,” I say, shaking my head. “The rest of us don’t.”

“Oh, fuck right off,” Scott mutters.

“Shut up, Scott,” I say. “Miguel, finish your food. We won’t bite. Scott’ll bark a little, but it’s fine, we won’t let him hurt you.”

After a tense moment, Renata releases Miguel’s arm and he sits back down in the chair, returning to his dinner. I shuffle the cards aimlessly. Renata offers me an almost imperceptible smile of gratitude.

“You should excuse Scott,” Rachel says from the living room, where she’s been watching this all go down. “None of us are really used to having company.”

“Too bad. You serve good food,” Miguel says.

“It’s the least we could do,” I say. “Been awhile since anyone bothered to hang out with us.”

“Awhile,” Scott scoffs, still sulking at the table.

“Okay, ever,” I correct myself, nodding in deference to him. “We don’t know how to socialize these days.”

“We could start with a game,” Renata says, taking Miguel’s empty plate and carrying it toward the kitchen. “Texas Hold ‘Em, fellas?”

Miguel is not particularly good at poker, or maybe he’s faking it, but Renata ends up cleaning most of us out. Her father taught her well, apparently. “Wish we were playing for real money,” she mutters as she collects her last round of chips.

Scott tosses his last, losing hand down on the table. “Remind me to never bet against you.”

“I never do,” I say casually, as I gather the extra cards from the table. I wasn’t trying to win. I spent most of the game studying Miguel and his tells. He’s not particularly good at keeping a poker face. He can keep his face still, but his eyes speak volumes. And they speak volumes now, as he looks at Renata, waiting for the invitation.

She looks at her room, then looks back at Scott, silently pleading.

“Fine,” he says reluctantly. “We’ll watch a movie or somethin’.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, and heads for his camera-free room with Miguel in tow.

Scott shakes his head as the door closes behind them. “Why the hell am I enabling this?”

“For her. And he’s not so bad,” Rachel says.

“What do you guys think he went to prison for?” I ask casually, shuffling the cards again.

“I don’t care,” Scott says, furious. “Whatever it was, he had rights. He had a legal system, and a lawyer. You know what I wouldn’t give to have the right to a fuckin’ attorney right now? We got convicts keeping us locked up, when we ain’t done nothin’ wrong to get here. How is that fair?”

“Fair? Fair ended for all of us the day we met Hap,” I remind him pointedly.

“Okay,” he sniffs, “but don’t expect me to feel bad for that guy.”

“I don’t expect you to feel bad for anyone, Scott.”

“Oh, how many times in one night am I gonna have to tell you to fuck off?” he asks me impatiently. “What I’m tryin’ to say is, why don’t none of ‘em try and stop this?”

“No one’s gonna stop this,” I say absently. I reach for the card box and settle the deck into the slot. “They’ve made sure of that. What they’re working on is too important. The stakes are too high. It matters more than us. More than Miguel, more than his family. They’re not going to let anything stop this.”

“So we’re the goddamn collateral damage.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up, more intense than I’ve been all night. “That’s right. We’re the casualties. And we’ve done nothing except help Hap make his experiment even more valuable than it was before. It used to just be about life after death. We brought inter-dimensional travel into it and fucked it up even more.”

“Come on. That’s not true,” Rachel says. “Don’t put this on OA." 

“Nah. I blame all of us, equally. We all knew what we were doing at the end of the day. We also knew we didn’t have any other options.” I shake my head and stand up from the table, tossing the deck of cards in the middle. “Anyway. At least Miguel threw us a bone, even if he didn’t see it.” 

“How do you mean?” Rachel asks.

I raise my eyebrows at her. “Well, you and I know what we have to do, and now I’m thinking we know when we need to do it.”

“What are you talking about?”

I fold my arms, enjoying my brief moment of superiority. “Didn’t you hear him?” She shakes her head, looking blank. “Six o’ clock. Shift change for the goons.”

“That’s when we have to try to get to her,” Rachel breathes, the realization hitting her. She and Scott exchange a look.

“It might not buy us much time, but it’s something,” I whisper.

“Okay,” Rachel says firmly. “Okay. You’re right.”

“See? So don’t say he’s all bad,” I say to Scott as I start for my room.

“Going to bed already?” he asks.

“I’m fucking off,” I say, with an exaggerated bow to him. “As you requested.”

“Bit late for that,” he mutters behind me as I turn away, but I hear Rachel laughing at both of us, which is all that I need to be satisfied, and at this point, I suspect Scott probably feels the same way.

It’s easy to feel uplifted, now that I have a plan.

The four of us gather in Scott’s room the next day, exactly at 5:45 PM. Fifteen minutes before shift change.

It’s a calculated strategy. We’re gambling, based on what little Renata has managed to get out of her pillow talk, that Lou and Miguel will be distracted for the last few minutes of their shift, and Reilly and Betts will take a few minutes to settle in before bothering to check the typically boring security cameras.

“The problem is that OA doesn’t understand. She’s over-thinking everything,” I say to the others as Scott closes the door. “I’m guessing that she thinks that because we left the mine, we must have crossed to another dimension already. She’s wrong. She isn’t seeing what’s in front of her face. We have to give her what she needs. We have to tell her we’re still here.”

“And you’re sure we can do this?” Renata asks, worried.

“We have to,” Rachel says firmly.

My eyes drift to the stack of books on Scott’s desk. I pick up the one on top. “The Oligarchs?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. “Like, Russian oligarchs?”

“It reminded me of her,” Scott says, sounding slightly defensive. “I was curious. I told you earlier, you can borrow it, if you want.”

“Yeah, maybe later,” I say, setting it back down. Somehow, the book does make me feel a little closer to her. It reminds me that her strange world is real. And it’s about to get stranger. “Rachel, are you ready to do this?"

She takes a deep breath and nods. The four of us face off, me across from Scott, Rachel across from Renata. I nod my head back and cue the others, and we start moving.

I dig deep inside, channeling all my fear and anxiety, channeling the strong emotions from when I saw her yesterday, trying to focus all my energy toward the flickering flame of her that I felt.

I remember the power I felt the other day, behind the wheel of the agency’s van. It reminded me that I'm not weak. I'm not a tool to be used by Hap or Jeremy or Eli to suit their purposes. I'm Homer Roberts. I can lead a college football team to not one, but two championship games. I can beat the odds and survive an accident that should have killed me. I can see beyond the veil of this life and I can glimpse something most people never get to see in their lifetimes. I can bring a man or a mouse back from the dead. I _am_ the leader of this tribe, and when we’re together, we are stronger than anything they can dream of.

I think about everything that Rachel and Scott are risking. They've created a space here where they can be together without interference, without voyeurs, to explore their blossoming relationship with the privacy and secrecy that anyone deserves. To risk it like this is a sacrifice. Just like OA accepting my penance was a sacrifice. Just like giving up our chance at freedom to restore a life was a sacrifice. The selflessness of angels.

Is this it? Is this the missing piece?

Maybe we can defeat violence, through the purity of our love for humanity. I see it now. I understand what she was trying to tell us. 

Images start to float before my eyes. A highway. Land and sky tumbling, spinning out of control, jarring my system. 

A red backpack.

A figure laid out on a gurney.

Rachel, sobbing in a hospital bed.

A flash of OA, walking down a street, not seeing what’s left behind her. She needs to look, we’re leaving her a trace, a signal, something she needs to see, but she’s not looking, she doesn’t realize she has to _look_ -

The door slams open and I jump back, startled out of my trance. The street is gone, OA is gone, the tumbling images are all gone. Our chance is gone.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lou barks.

We didn’t even make it to the shift change. She saw nothing, and now we have an angry guard at the door. It’s over. We’ve failed again.

The wolf rumbles, and then disappears, and I’m left all alone with my tribe behind me, defeated once again.

 


	14. Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The captives’ attempt to reach out leads to unintended consequences. Renata and Homer share a moment of reckoning. Homer gets to look at Hap’s records at last, and it inspires him to try a final, desperate plan, which will risk everything.

We all stare at Lou, who is in the doorway, his face red with rage, as he processes what he’s discovered.

Scott is the first one to regain his composure. "We’re practicing what we're supposed to be fucking doing. What does it look like?"

"Not in here you're not," he snaps.

"Is there a problem? Are the bedrooms off limits now?" Renata asks innocently.

"I don’t have to tell you what the goddamn problem is.” He pulls Scott's desk chair below the camera and steps up to remove the tinfoil. I look at Scott, expecting to see disappointment, but all I see on his face is grim determination.  "No more shenanigans," Lou says. He walks out the door and exits the apartment, leaving us all looking at each other.

“Fuck,” Renata sighs, leaning against the doorframe in defeat.

"I'm sorry, man," I say to Scott. "I didn’t mean to mess everything up."

“You didn’t mess nothin’ up,” he says dismissively.

"No," Rachel says firmly. Her face is pale, but resolved. "That was good. Really good. That was worth it." 

“Was it?” I ask skeptically.

"What did you even do?" Scott whispers. "What just happened?"

"I was sending her a message," she says. "And I think it got through. I was trying to find a way to tell her we can connect, that it's real. I tried to send her something to show her it's me."

“I don’t think she saw it,” I say dubiously. “I don’t know if that was worth losing our camera-free room. Your camera-free room,” I correct myself.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Rachel says. She looks at Scott. "It's okay, babe. I don't care what they see. Let them all wish they could have something as real as what we have."

A slow grin starts across his face, and he pulls her into his arms, kissing her deeply. Renata and I exchange an awkward look and scoot out of the room, closing the door behind us.

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to that," I admit to her.

"Try living between them in a cage.”

"Was it really always that obvious?"

She shrugs. "Like I said."

"Well." I collapse at the table and reach for the jar of modeling clay Rachel left out last night. I take the clay out and start jabbing at it with my finger. "Least someone can get a happy ending around here."

"This isn't the end, for any of us. You know that. Nowhere close."

"But it didn’t work. Nothing ever works. I just don't know how to beat him anymore, Renata. He'll always have all the power, all the control, and all the resources. You can believe in me all you want, but that’s all we have. Us. The movements. And it's never gonna be enough. It’s never going to get us where we want to be. I keep lying to myself and trying to tell myself that’s not true, but here we are. We messed up. Again." 

She knows what I'm talking about. "How can you say that, though?" She reaches out her hand and I break off a piece of the clay and hand it to her. "You've transformed his experiment. You've taken control. His subjects used to be disposable. Not anymore. You've beaten that.”

"And what has it gotten me?" I ask. She breaks her clay into pieces and starts rolling it into smaller balls as she listens. "A lotta heartbreak and loss, and at the end of the day, I’m still just a fucking rat in a cage. No matter what I do, I keep getting beaten back down. We can't win. All the powers of the angels, and the most we can do is what? Send a message that says hi? We’re here? How is that going to save her? How is that going to get us out?" 

As I rant, she starts pushing her balls together into a figure of a person. "When you first met her, did you ever think she would be free? Did you ever think you would be allowed to live above ground again?"

"No," I say with a sigh. “When I met her, I figured we were all as good as dead.”

"You see? These _are_ victories, Homer. You _have_ won. Over and over. You have to be able to see that. You can’t let yourself dwell on hatred and loss."

"I have a lot of hatred to dwell on," I admit. "And a lot I’ve lost. It'll last me awhile."

"And all it does is bring you down," she says. "I see it in you every time I look at you. Don't you think there's power in forgiveness? Don't you think that's what helps us rise above it all? How you can move past your losses?" 

I lick my lips. I know what she's saying. It's what I've been thinking all along. "I could never forgive him, though."

"It would take a great deal of grace, wouldn't it?" She nods at me, encouraging me.

"Probably. More grace than I have, anyway."

"I don't know about that," she says slowly. "You have more grace than almost anyone I've ever met, except for maybe OA. If anyone can learn to forgive everything he's done to us, it's you." 

"No," I say firmly. "I can't. I need to see him suffer. I need to see him understand the pain he's caused us."

"You don't think he suffers?" 

I stare at her. "How? He lives in his obsession, every day. How is that suffering?"

"He lost her, too. Don’t forget that. And he gave up control of his project. He lost his autonomy. He has to answer to someone else now, his work belongs to them, and yet he's still all alone and unloved."

"Still not feeling the sympathy over here. Don’t you think some people don’t deserve to be loved?"

She holds out the figure she’s been making, a small man. "Here," she says. "This is what I want you to do. All that hatred you hold, all that anger, I want you to focus it on him, right here."

"Renata."

"Just do it," she says. "Humor me."

With a sigh, I try to picture the figure as Hap and direct my rage towards it. I think about everything I've endured because of him and his crazed passion for his theories, all the pain I've had to swallow because we were both obsessed with the same person. I think about everything I've lost. I think about my mother, dying without her son there to say goodbye, without knowing his fate. I think about Mandy, wherever she is, and whether things would have been different if the father of her child hadn’t vanished from her world one day.

All of it was because of him. Because one man thought that his research was more important than my life or my freedom or the people I loved. Because he believed that his curiosity about death was more important than the dreams of a life that I never got to live. 

"Now," she says, setting the figure on the table.

The wolf roars. I lash out, the heel of my hand slamming the clay into the table. I pound it, again and again, letting my rage flatten the clay into a pancake, the table shaking with each powerful thrust. I hit the table over and over until my hand hurts and the clay is thin as paper.

"There," she says. "How did that feel?"

I stare at the flattened clay, feeling the wolf fade away. My hand throbs. "I don't know."

"Let it go, Homer," she whispers. "I know it's hard. I know what he's done to you, what he's done to all of us, but you have to find your grace. You have to be stronger. That's the only way you’ll ever beat him. To meet his violence with love."

"Love?” I ask, startled. I shake my head in astonishment. "Forgive him, I mean, maybe, someday, but what am I supposed to love?"

"Think about it," she says. "Start with letting go of your anger. The rest can come later." 

I sit back in my chair. I do feel better. I can't hurt Hap, I'd never be allowed to, but in a weird way, now that I've acted, I feel purged. I shake my hand out.

"How did you find your grace?" 

"Through you," she says. "I learned to forgive you, and that's where I began. After that, everything else was easy."

I stare at her. Her words cause a twinge somewhere deep inside me. "Are you serious?" I ask her. "Jesus, Renata. I still haven’t even forgiven myself for what I did to you."

"Everyone else forgave you," she says. "A long time ago. Why can’t you? Maybe you need to start there. How can you forgive anyone else, when you can’t even forgive yourself?"

I squeeze my eyes shut and rub at them with my hand. "You could be free if it wasn't for me."

"That's not true," she says. "Don’t put that on yourself. He would have gotten me, one way or another. You were the means, true, but you weren't the cause."

"Still. I let it happen. I could have stopped it."

"You couldn't." 

"And what we did, in the hotel-" I can't bring myself to say it. "It's unforgivable. I knew what I was doing. That was all my choice. Not his."

"That," she says. "Yes. That's the part I had to forgive you for. And I did. I told you a long time ago I did." 

"Yeah, but how?"

"Through understanding," she says, her voice a soft, melodic whisper now. "I understand you, Homer. You made a mistake out of love."

"Love? I was selfish."

"To give me one last moment of connection, knowing what was coming? To let yourself connect? To let yourself be cherished, for just a few minutes, when you needed it so badly? I wish all men could be so selfish. Trust me. I've slept with men who had far worse intentions. You made a mistake, but it doesn't define you. You’ve paid your penance time and again, through what you’ve endured. You're still worthy of love. You deserve forgiveness and grace.”

"Thank you," I say quietly, staring at the table. "But what about him? What is there to love about him?"

"Find it," she says, "and maybe that's where you'll find your own grace."

She leaves me alone at the table with a firm pat on my shoulder. I gather all the clay and roll it into a ball. I hold it in my hand and study it.

If I want to succeed, if I want to shout down these walls, I have to find this in myself first.

How in the world am I supposed to forgive that man? What is there to love about him?

OA could find it. I know she could. She had contempt for him, of course, but she understood him, too. There were times where I used to think she even felt sorry for him. I never understood why. I never tried.

Can I find the light in him that she did? If she could bring herself to forgive him, why can't I?

I don't have the grace of Renata or OA. I never have. I don’t think I’m an angel like them. I've always felt that, deep down. I've always thought that I was something darker. When they die, they go to places with guardians and light.

The place I go is scarier. It's for people like me.

...But what if I could _make_ myself more like them? What would I be capable of then?

I squeeze the clay and it oozes between my fingers. Hap is right to see through me. I carry so much anger inside. I can't hide it. I can try to squeeze it, try to keep it inside, but it will only come out somewhere else. It never goes away. I've been trying to put on a fake face, trying to act like some puppy that I'll never truly be. I've come too far to ever be that innocent again. I’m not fooling anybody.

What I really need to do is tame the wolf. Find a true peace, and bring my invisible self together with the face I show the world.

If I can do that, maybe I can find a way out of here and figure out how to save her.

And if finding my grace is the only way to be free and be with her, then that's what I’m going to do.

Someday. Just as soon as I can figure out how.

The next morning, Miguel walks me to the conference room and deposits me in front of Jeremy, a laptop, and a pile of labeled CDs.

“What’s this?” I ask, sliding into the chair in front of the laptop tentatively.

Jeremy folds his arms in front of him. “You asked for the research. This is what we have. We need your help,” he adds. “You know the experiments aren’t working here.”

I nod slowly.

“It would be easy enough for us to conclude that they never worked. That it’s all a lie.”

“They never worked,” I say robotically, feeling hollow even as I do. “It _is_ all a lie.”

He offers a wry smile. “But we have Hap’s records to tell us that isn’t true.”

“Maybe he fooled all of us?” I say. “Maybe none of it’s true. You should just let us all go back to our families now.”

“Nice try,” he says. He points at a stack of CD-ROM disks on the table. “There’s plenty of evidence there. What we’re trying to figure out is the proper experimental conditions for your movements to open a portal and bend reality. We believe it’s possible. We’ve seen glimmers of shifts of reality during the experiments, if we’re right about what we’re looking at, but it’s still just not quite coming together.”

“So what do you want me to do?” I ask dully. I glance up at the wall, taking note of the camera pointed right at me, then turn back to the stack of disks in front of me.

“We need to document a healing first,” he says. “That’s the priority, first and foremost. What’s not working about our conditions here? We’ve been through this data, over and over with Dr. Percy, but we want to go through it with you. You understand this in a way that he doesn’t. You may have information he wasn’t able to glean.”

“Tell me why I’m going to help you,” I say, looking up at him. “I mean, I know you must have thought this part through.”

“You learn quickly,” he says wryly. “Here’s the deal. You give us a successful healing, you get a phone call to your father.”

“When?” I whisper, sitting up straight.

“Immediately,” he says. “Or, as soon as is reasonable.”

“You said I had to wait.”

“Not if you can heal someone. The rules have changed.”

“What am I allowed to say?”

“Anything, within the limits of your cover story.”

I want to tell him I didn’t leave by choice, that I need his help, that I miss him more than I ever thought possible. I can only tell him one of those things, but it might be enough. It might be worth it. 

“What if I wanted to call someone else?” I ask carefully, looking down at my lap.

“Homer, no. You can’t call her.”

I sense something in the air. It could be a moment, or an opportunity. I sit back and fold my arms, fixing him with a look. “Then maybe I’m not interested.”

“Oh, you are interested,” he says. “You’re very interested.” He pushes his chair back and stands. “Take a look at what’s here, and we can talk more about it later.”

I stare for a few seconds at the stack of disks, then turn back to the computer. I open an internet browser. Of course there’s nothing there. They’re not dumb enough to give me a machine that can connect to the internet.

I load the first disk into the drive and click on the icon. It’s full of files. I start to open them, one by one. I see notes, pictures, video clips. All of it about us. We might as well be Mickey the zombie mouse from how clinical and detailed the information is on us. It gives me an unsettled, creepy feeling, but I have to push it aside, because this is too important to back away from now. 

This disk seems to be full of data from late in 2010, based on the dates of the files. While we were agonizing over trying to figure out how to suck the gas from the cells in order to figure out what he was doing, Hap was trying to figure out some sense from the nonsense of our near-death experiences.

His work was stalled in 2010. We had guessed that a long time ago, but it’s still startling to see it all here in his notes. The problem, which we could have told him if he’d opened up to us about this, was that he was gassing us before killing us, and so when we traveled, our consciousness was already in an altered state. What I was trying to do, to travel with my eyes and my heart open, was really the key to moving the research forward. But he didn’t know that at the time.

I’m startled to see that he shared my theory on the different nature of my NDEs. He thought I was different than the others, too. Could that be why he didn’t trust me? Was he _judging_ me? The notes don’t say that. They just note that further research is needed. Of course it is.

The sound files of the NDEs are all here. I start to pull up one of Rachel’s, then I stop myself. That’s private. It’s not going to tell me anything I need to know right now, and it could be a look into the deepest, darkest corners of her self. I don’t want to see that. Instead, I open up another one of the files full of Hap’s notes and scroll through.

I wish I knew what I was looking for. I could have asked Jeremy for guidance, but I don’t think he even knows what to tell me, either. I eject the disk. 2010 is too early. I’m not sure exactly when we started receiving the movements, but nothing in 2010 is going to give me insight into how they work or why.

The files on August start on a disk from 2007.

I don’t want to read them, but I remember my promise to Rachel. She needs to know, which means that I need to know, for her.

He didn’t know much more than we did. She was a frustrating subject for him. In some ways, she was frustrating for all of us. That didn’t make her death any easier to stomach. In some ways, it made it more of a tragedy.

I go for one of the earlier disks, 2003. In it, I find notes on a subject observed at a hospital in Pittsburgh who described a previous near-death experience, and subsequent attempts to locate the subject, who lacked a permanent address. “Goddamn,” I whisper under my breath. 2003. Was Scott really there a full four years before me? And does he even realize that? I can’t even fathom dealing with this for four years longer than I already have.

There’s another file in 2003. “ _Epiphany - Revival”._ I know before I’ve even clicked on it what it is. It’s the first time he revived Scott and brought him back from a clear death. It’s the notes on his realization that there was a reason why he could revive this particular subject, when he hadn’t ever been able to revive anyone before.

It’s the epiphany that doomed all of us, the realization that made us his targets.

I feel sick to my stomach.

I reach for one of the last disks, labeled with a date in early 2016. It’s not as full. It hits me for the first time that it must be 2016 now. I haven’t even bothered to ask anyone about the year, because these things barely matter to me now.

I open up a video file, and know immediately what it is. It’s from the camera that he positioned outside Renata’s cell to capture the movements. I watch, fascinated, as the five of us silently glide through the familiar patterns in a concentrated, trancelike state, all of us aware of his camera while also knowing there’s nothing we can do about it. I never realized how beautiful it was to watch us. Mostly, I stare at her. This is how I knew her. Not the terrified, traumatized survivor on the news, but this graceful adventurer, leading us into uncharted territory, dirty and tired and fierce.

Watching it fills me with sad nostalgia, the memory of what I’ve lost, and the desire for what I could find again.

But this isn’t helping me, either.

I open up one of the most recent files on the disk. It’s an audio recording. There are two voices on the audio. His and hers.

“I am not your lab partner,” she says. The words sound far away, it’s almost an accidental recording, she’s un-miked, but her voice is clear as a bell. I sit straight up. “I am not your friend. I’m your slave. You want to know what happens on the other side? Put yourself in that machine and die-“

I hit the pause button. I can’t listen to this anymore.

I rub at my eyes, then search through the other files on the single 2016 disk. Video clips. Graphic images of our movement notations and the scars on our backs. A series of emails between Hap and some doctor at a hospital in Pennsylvania. He refers to Jeremy Stevenson at BEC and recommends that they get in touch. I find another letter that Hap must have drafted to Jeremy, asking for more information on collaboration.

I open an audio recording and play a few seconds before I determine that it’s an interview with Scott. For the first minute or two, I’m convinced that it must have been recorded under the influence of the gas, as I hear him dully offering compliant answers to all of Hap’s questions, but then I hear a hint of the familiar Scott snark, and I realize with shock that he has to be conscious. Of course. The date. Hap stopped using the gas on all of us long before 2016, to try to help to travel while conscious. He didn’t have to use the gas on Scott to get those responses out of him. He was fully compliant without it by then, even if he loathed himself for it. For some reason, this makes me incredibly sad.

It’s all here. All our suffering. All the terrible things that he did to us. Documented. Proven. Recorded.

 _Biocentrism_. I can touch this record. It’s real. It happened. We aren’t making it up or lying or remembering it wrong. It exists.

All these people who live inside this hell aren’t touching it. They don’t recognize how wrong it is - or they’re not willing to allow themselves to see it - but _someone_ has to.

I don’t know if I care anymore about Hap’s groundbreaking research. It’s mind-blowing and world-changing, sure, but it’s also responsible for ripping me away from the life I was supposed to have. It’s responsible for so much damage to OA, to Rachel, to Renata, to Scott. To August. Let other people worry about breaking through barriers. The only thing I care about is whether or not I’ll ever get to control my own life again.

The wolf rumbles somewhere deep inside me.

The research _is_ bullshit, and I’m not interested in it. She would be, though. That’s the difference between me and her. She would care. She would have to go down every rabbit hole. She would want to know more. She would be amazed by all of this, slave or not.

And then it comes to me in a flash. I know what I have to do.

There’s an opening. A possible way out.

There _has_ to be someone out there who would help her. Someone who would touch these records and see the reality of them for what they are and be appalled. The people she’s gathered, whoever they are. _Someone_ has to care. Someone has to be able to try to save us.

I can’t allow myself to believe that all humans are inherently evil.

It’s a long shot. Then again, for us, it’s always been a long shot. All of our grasps at freedom, all of our stumbles forward - _everything_ we’ve ever won has come from sensing a desperate opportunity and trying, despite knowing how long a shot it is. We keep trying anyway.

That’s what we do.

I remove the 2016 disk and set it to the side without its case. I spend another two hours preparing for my moment. I leave more disks out of the case. I review more files. More haunted audio recordings of my own NDEs. Things I remember. Things I don’t. More observational notes about where he thinks we travel and articles about the multi-verse and incomprehensible records of quantum science theories far beyond my understanding, even though I’ve experienced them all.

And when I’ve created enough chaos on the table, enough disks spread across the surface, I twitch my arm, just enough to send them all clattering across the floor.

I dive under the table to retrieve them, out of sight of the camera, protected from view, like I used to be when I would climb under my bed with her to whisper at night.

I snatch the 2016 disk, with all its incriminating data, and shove it down the front of my pants, lodging it solidly in my underwear and pulling my shirt over it to disguise it, before collecting the rest of the disks and standing back up.

My heart is pounding as I return to reviewing the data. The disk pinches awkwardly at my skin, and I try to shift slightly without giving it away. The words spin before my eyes. I have to act like I’m still interested.

I open another random disk. I’m barely paying attention now, but this one makes me stop and sit up. It’s entirely devoted to documenting Scott’s death and resurrection. There are hours of recorded video footage of us moving silently in the nighttime darkness of the cells, and I scan through the clips, watching the worst night of my life, until I find the moment on the tape where he gasps back to life. It’s still the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, and watching the surveillance footage for the first time doesn’t diminish it, but my mind is still on the disk hidden in my pants and whether I can get it out of here.

Because _nothing_ could be more incredible than _actually being free_. All of us. Free of the experiments, free of fear and death, free of captivity, free of Hap, free of the agency. That’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted, ever since the first moment I realized my freedom was gone, and now, hidden in my shorts, I might have a way out at last.

I finally collect the disks, set them all aside in a messy stack – except for one - and wave at the camera to indicate that I’m finished for the day.

The door opens and Jeremy walks in. “So?” he asks. Goddamn cocksucker must have been lurking. Waiting for me. Stalking me. I hate them all.

I shake my head. “It’s a lot of information.” I glance down at my pants, checking that there’s no outline from the disk I have hidden there. I pull at my shirt to make sure it’s hanging down far enough.

“How did you do it, Homer?” he presses. “You’ve done things no other human can replicate, something no one can even explain. All we need is to document it, and you’ll open up an entirely new field of scientific study.”

“And that’s how we’ll get that restitution money we talked about?”

He sighs. “We’re working on it. I told you. Soon.”

“And Mandy?”

“The moment I know anything, you will, too.”

“How am I supposed to trust you?” I fold my arms. “You offered us consequences for Hap, too. We haven’t seen any of it. Just a whole lotta bullshit. Plus some cable TV.”

“Don’t you want to keep the cable TV?” he asks.

Scott would kill me if I answered this with anything other than yes. “Can you at least throw some HBO in there?”

Jeremy gives me a wry look. “I’ll see what I can do.” He looks at the files. “What do you think so far?”

“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “It’s a lot to process. I think I need to sleep on it.”

Jeremy nods, satisfied. “We can talk tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I say weakly.

I already have a feeling that we won’t.

Betts walks me back to the apartment and I try to stroll as casually as I can, shoving a hand in my pocket to brace the disk and keep it from breaking my stride. I feel a thrill inside me that he didn’t see anything wrong. He doesn’t know yet what I’ve done. What I’m about to do.

I’m close. I’m so close.

Back in the apartment, hand still in my pocket, I casually lift one of Scott’s books, a giant tome about angels, from the kitchen table. I peek into his room, but he’s not there. I pause in the hall, my back to the cameras, to tuck the disk into the book, then I hurry over to Rachel’s room, where I knock urgently. “Come in,” she calls.

She and Scott are lying on her bed. She’s sketching in her journal and he’s reading The Iliad.

I stare at him, my mission forgotten for a brief moment. “You’re reading Homer.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Told you I always meant to.” I offer him half a smile. I know immediately what he’s talking about, even though it was years ago - our very first conversation, when we were first locked in a dungeon together, when I was terrified and traumatized and embarrassed and distraught. 

 _“Your name’s really Homer?” he asked._ _“What, like The Simpsons?”_

 _“N-no,” I stammered softly, though I could barely hear my own voice. “Like th-the bard.”_  
  
_“What’s a bard?” he asked._

_“The guy who wrote The Iliad,” I snapped, suddenly feeling my fear melt away, replaced with frustration. Who the hell was this guy, what was he doing here, and what was wrong with him? “I’m named after him.”  
_

_“Never heard of him,” he said dismissively._

_“You never got assigned to read that book for school?” the girl in the next cell asked._

_“Probably,” he said. “But I didn’t.”_

_“Well, that explains a lot.”_

_“Maybe I’ll get around to it. Someday.”_

I push the memory out of my mind and pull the brim of my cap down low, blocking my face from the camera.

“We need to get to work. Now,” I whisper urgently. 

Scott closes The Iliad and sits up, a quizzical look on his face. Rachel sets her journal aside.

“What is it?” she mouths. The camera is behind her. 

“Enough data to put _everyone_ in this place away, for _life_ ,” I hiss. “And we need to get it out of here, right this second.”

“We need to get it to her,” Scott murmurs.

I answer with a firm nod. “Before they realize what I did.”

“But we already sent her a message today,” Rachel whispers urgently. “Me and Scott, while you were gone.”

“What kind of message?”

They glance at each other. “We had to send her something no one else would understand,” Scott says slowly.

“We tried to put my name on a wall near her - in Braille, so no one else would understand,” Rachel says. “I’m not sure where we were, but I saw Eli there.” 

“Did it work?” I press. “Did she understand?”

“I think it worked,” Scott says. “Did she see it? I dunno. It kicked her ass hard, though.” He motions to Rachel.

I swallow, hard. I understand what that means. She may not be able to do it twice in one day. We could be in trouble. “Okay. But I need you to try again,” I say. “We don’t have a choice.”

She looks doubtful, but determined. Scott hands me The Iliad. “She can. I know she can.”

I head for my room a few moments later, having summoned Renata from hers, and Scott adds a couple more of his books to the pile. “She’s gotta know this is a message from us,” Scott says, though even he looks uncertain. “Right?”

“Even if she can’t read them,” I say firmly, “she’ll see what they’re about, she’ll know it has something to do with us.”

Maybe she’ll go to Eli. Maybe she won’t. But I have to take the risk. I have to try.

We can’t wait for a shift change today. We don’t have time. They could be here any second, and we have to get the disk out of here before anyone from the agency realizes what I’ve done and what we’re doing.

“Homer,” Renata calls softly. She motions me to the kitchen table, and I realize after a moment what she’s suggesting. I gesture for Scott to join us, and the three of us hoist the table, positioning it against the door. I grab the edge of the couch and start to slide it across the room. It’s heavy, but Scott joins me, shoving it flush against the table. We pile the chairs on top of it.

That will buy us time. Not much, but it’s all we have.

It has to be enough, because I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s not.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Rachel says urgently, and we join her around the books and we start to move. Then I stop and pull her to the side.

I can sense her fatigue, the damage to her body. It’s nearly impossible to do this once in a day, let alone twice. But she _has_ to bend reality again. We have to make it work for us. We have to take the shot.

“Rachel,” I whisper. “I know this is impossible. But that’s what we do.”

“I know,” she says, but her face is still pale.

“Look.” I take a deep breath. “I want you to know. He tried really hard to revive her. August. He didn’t want her to die.”

She sucks in a breath.

“I don’t know if that helps anything,” I say. “But it’s the truth.”

“Thank you,” she says, then she takes up her position and nods for us to start. I sense a renewed energy in her, and I know I’ve done all I can for now.

I visualize the little girls’ room I saw the other day, the white bedspread and the dollhouse. I have to reach for her near there. I have to rely on our connection. I have to dig down to the part of my soul where she’s imprinted and use it to find my way back to her, to help Rachel find the way to bend reality to make it what we need it to be.

 _Prairie Johnson._ The Michigan Miracle. She’s no more free than we are. She’s a prisoner of her past, like all of us. Until she and I are together, she’ll never be free.

 _Nina Azarova._ This disk, it’s a guide for her to find us, to save us. It’s the proof she needs to show everyone that she’s not crazy, that the trauma she experienced was real, that we exist. It’s the key to everything.

Don’t cross, not yet - don’t leave, wait for us, look around you, I’m trying to tell you, I’m trying to help you. We’re closer than you think. We’re so close.

Don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us. 

I hear a commotion from the living room. There’s shouting and banging, all of it coming from outside. They’ve realized what we’ve done and are trying to force the door open, but the furniture we’ve stacked is heavy, and the goons aren’t enough.

I glance down. The books are still here. 

Rachel is still moving with us, but her eyes are closed. Her face has gone white, even more than usual, her mouth hanging open slightly. She’s trying. Whatever she understands that we don’t, she’s tapping into it, trying to do what I can’t do.

Everything is coming to a head. I can sense the electricity crackling in the air. This is it. This is the last chance I get. It’s now or never.

Somewhere, deep down, something is trying to tell me that this may be my last moment of our strange little world of semi-freedom, but I dismiss it, because I don’t care. I don’t belong here. This place isn’t for me. I want to be with her, I want to be free. Until then, nothing else matters.

I move with intention, with feeling, with sacrifice. I move for Rachel, for Scott, for Renata. I move for her. I move for me. I move for August. For Nicole. For the Mandy the waitress, and a lost child I may never know. For Evelyn and Stan, goddamn Stan, even he did what he did out of love. All of it was so that we could find our way out of here and find our way to real freedom.

This isn’t freedom. Dancing like their puppet, obediently combing through their records, trying to solve their research queries, then being trapped again behind a locked door every night - that’s not what I’ve been working toward all these years. That’s not why I tore painful symbols into my flesh. That’s not why I fought for years to die awake and explore the mysteries behind the other side of the curtain. That’s not my destiny.

I hear a loud crash at the door as the stack of furniture topples to the ground. We only have seconds.

The air hisses around me. The door to the bedroom slams open and strong arms yank me back, halting my movements.

“Get off him!” Before I can do anything, Scott lunges at the figure behind me. For a moment, I’m free again. I whip around to see Betts struggling with Scott hanging off of him.

“No!” I snap. From behind him, I see Reilly barging toward us. “Scott, let him go.”

“Where’s the disk?” Reilly asks. He lunges at me and grabs me. He’s smaller than Betts, but he’s stronger, and the sheer force of his sudden grasp shakes me to my core.

“What disk?” Renata asks, stepping back from the chaos. She truly doesn’t know. None of them really know what’s happening right now. Only me. I’m the only one who’s guilty. It’s better that way. 

I manage to get a leg free and kick up to knee Reilly in the stomach, in just the right place to knock his breath out. His grasp releases me. Rachel is still moving. She _has_ to keep moving. She has to get the disk out of here. It’s up to her. I don’t know how long she needs, I just know I have to do whatever I can to give her time.

Whatever I can.

The wolf is here now, burning me from the inside out, and I have no reason left to keep it buried anymore. I need it now, and I let go, releasing my resistance, releasing my fear and my fury and my fire.

I lunge at Reilly and my hands wrap around his throat, squeezing, pressing at his windpipe. He flails to knock me off, but I try to hold on, fighting to cut off his air. It’s cruel and it’s violent and how am I supposed to feel guilty about it? How many times have I been deprived of air because of this project? How many times have they cut me off from my freedom, from my happiness? Even if they only work here because they have to. Even if their families are threatened. My family is threatened, too. I’m only fighting to save us all. 

I know it’s not what OA would do if she were here. I know this is a dark and dangerous side of me, the reason why I don’t deserve a guardian and why my own journeys are filled with fear, but I don’t have a choice. I have to buy enough time.

No one but the wolf can do it now.

Behind me, I hear Scott shouting something about Rachel, but it sounds far away.

I only make it for a few seconds before one of Reilly’s massive arms crashes into me, knocking me to the floor.

As I stumble, I glance back at the books.

They’re gone.

She did it.

We did it.

On the ground, I exhale. Then I look at Rachel, and realize with a start that she’s collapsed, on the floor, unconscious.

“Little cunt!” Reilly growls, grabbing at me again before I can even process what’s happening with Rachel. But this time, I don’t resist. He takes advantage and quickly flips me around, shoving my arms down, restraining me in a firm hold. I can feel the wolf slipping out of me as I gasp to regain my breath. Behind me, he coughs, still trying to regain air himself. “Where is it?”

I shake my head frantically. “Dunno.” I squirm against the unpleasant feel of Reilly pressing against me from behind. Scott is still struggling with Betts, pulling him back, tangled in his limbs as Betts tries without success to force him into a similar hold.

“Step back,” I hiss at him. 

“Let Homer go,” Scott growls.

“It’s okay,” I call to him. “Scott, stop. I’m okay. Rachel-”

Scott releases Betts – I didn’t even fathom that he could come close to overpowering one of the goons, but with the rush of adrenaline and the strength of our movements, anything is possible. He dives for Rachel’s body on the floor. 

I straighten up in Reilly’s grasp and look around at the others. I know what this is. The last few moments of our strange little family together. Renata’s hand is over her mouth, shocked, not knowing what to make of the scene.  

“Are you gonna make this easy?” Reilly asks me. “Or do we have to do this the hard way?”

“Easy,” I say reluctantly, casting my eyes down to the ground.

Reilly releases me. I stretch my arms out and he fixes them together in front of me with a zip tie. I try not to react, even though I’m suddenly aware of just how bad this is getting. Rachel starts to convulse on the floor, and I can see the panic on Scott’s face.

I look to the empty space where the books used to be. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and pray with everything I have, every last bit of belief I’ve ever had and lost over the years, that they got where they needed to go. Then I open my eyes.

“Homer, _no_ ,” Renata says, stepping forward as they pull me away, but I shake my head again, more firmly this time.

Reilly and Betts lead me out of the apartment into the hallway, and the door locks behind me.

The brave face I put on for the others feels so far away all of a sudden, like a completely different person. Everything hits me all at once. Whatever’s coming next, it’s not going to be good.

“Where are you taking me?” I manage to gasp as I hurry along behind Reilly. Betts shoves me from behind in response. “Ow!” I try to fake being slightly hurt, but it doesn’t faze them. They don’t care if I’m in pain. I limp quickly along the hall, trying to maintain my balance despite the lack of mobility in my arms. “The brig? You’re taking me back to the brig.” There’s no answer, but I know as soon as I see the stairwell that I’ve found the right answer.

Dr. Saltzman and the nurse from the clinic hurry past us in the opposite direction. The nurse takes one look at Betts and Reilly and me and looks down, away from me, refusing to meet my strong gaze at her. I’m not the one they’re here to save. I only hope they can do something for Rachel.

They pull me aside outside my old cell and pat me down. I swallow as Betts runs his hands over my private areas, checking every crevice. Only a few minutes ago they would have found their missing disk, but it’s far away now. And once his hands are done with me, he knows that much, too.

Before I know it, I’m stumbling back into the cell. Just like the first time, I straighten up quickly and spin around. I hold out my arms, ready to have the zip tie removed, but instead, Reilly shoves me back and they slide the door into place, leaving me with my hands bound.

I look down in disbelief.

I can’t move my hands.

I can’t do the movements.

My body has always been the _one_ thing that was still free. I’ve been locked up and puppeted and controlled, drugged and murdered and terrorized, but I’ve never been trapped like this - locked away from the movements and bound against my will. I never thought I could lose the movements. I bloodied and scarred my own flesh so that I would never lose the movements. And now they’re gone, at least to me.

“God fucking _dammit_!” I scream at the door, but it doesn’t respond.

I roar one more time, loudly, passionately, wordlessly, even though I know it’s useless. I have to let my anger out at something. It’ll destroy me if I don’t.

Defeated, I collapse onto the bed. There’s nothing else to do. I pull my legs up close to my chest and raise my hands so I can tuck my head against my arm, so that if they’re watching, they won’t see the tears quickly stinging my eyes. But I can’t hide the deep, shuddering breaths that follow. I slide the baseball cap off my head and press my face into it, hot, angry breath blowing back onto me.

I deserve this. I failed. _Meet their violence with love._ No. I met their violence with violence.

I know the truth. I could have killed Reilly. I would have, if I’d needed a few more seconds.

I would put me here, too.

Getting that small taste of freedom, just a little reminder of what it felt like to have real power and real autonomy, makes this hurt even worse than if I’d never left Hap’s laboratory. No more driving the van, or pizza and beer, or trips to Target. No more mornings spent quietly sipping coffee on the couch with Scott, or afternoons of watching movies on the floor with Rachel, or evenings lying in my own room gazing out at the stars beyond the trees, while listening to Renata stroke the magic out of her guitar.

_Rachel._

I hope she’s not…

Who was I to think that I deserved those things? Who was I to think that I would be allowed to stay free?

I am who I’ve always been. A prisoner. Controlled. Owned. Manipulated. Captive. I tried to tame the wolf, I tried to make it work, and I failed. 

I tried. I really tried. I tried with everything I had, everything I could do, everything I could ever dream of. But it was never up to me.

My fortune - my destiny - has always been here, in chains.


	15. Solitary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in solitary confinement, Homer struggles with his sanity. Eli and Hap continue to pressure him for information about the fate of the missing disk. Homer gets a trip away from the base, and finds help from a surprising source.

_“Homer? Are you there?”_

_I open my eyes to blackness._

_I can’t see anything, but I hear a knocking at my glass. For a moment, I panic, wondering where I am and why Prairie’s voice sounds so frantic._

_Then I realize._

_Then I start to panic even more._

_“I’m right here,” I whisper firmly to her, trying to disguise my alarm as I process what’s happened to us and what it means. “It’s okay.” It’s not._

_“I think-“ Her voice rises in pitch. “I’ve gone blind again. I can’t see-”_

_“It’s not you,” I assure her, trying to talk over her. “It’s not you. It’s the lights. Our power’s out.”_

_“What?” she gasps._

_“Remember all that pretty snow we were watching on the monitor yesterday? It must have taken down a power line somewhere.” I try to keep my voice stable, but it’s hard to disguise my own fear._

_“But Hap is away,” she whispers._

_“I know, Prair,” I say. “I know.”_

_“He might not be back for days.” I can hear her voice moving around, her bare feet splatting against the stone, her hands patting the walls with growing panic. She’s groping around her cell in the pitch black darkness._

_“It’s already been at least two days since he left,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “He has to be back soon. Probably as soon as he can get up the mountain. Come back to bed. We all should try to conserve energy now.”_

_“Rachel?” she asks quietly. “Scott? Anyone up?” But there’s nothing. Our cellmates are sleeping soundly, peacefully, in this absolute blackness._

_“Don’t bother them,” I implore her. “They might be able to sleep through this. It’s better that way.”_

_“The food dispensers-“ she starts._

_I was hoping she wouldn’t bring that up. It’s the thing I’m scared about the most, too. “Have you been saving any rations, like we talked about?”_

_“I have some,” she admits._

_“We’ll make it last, then,” I assure her. “And we have all the water we need. That’s the most important thing. We can survive for days. Maybe weeks, if we have to.”_

_“In darkness,” she whispers. Her words send a chill down my arms. I’m glad she can’t see me right now, because I don’t want her to know that I’m just as frightened as she is._

_“You’ve done it before,” I remind her. “You have a leg up on the rest of us.”_

_“I guess."_

_“Come here. Lie back down with me.”_

_“Okay.” I hear a rustling, and I know that means she’s settling on her mattress beside me. I relax and stretch out on my cot and wrap my blanket around myself and close my eyes. I feel better knowing that she’s so close to me again, even if I can’t see her or feel her. I still know that she’s real. “What about the locks?” she whispers._

_I already thought about that. “They’re mechanical. We’re still locked in.”_

_“The top of the stairs,” she says. “The one that beeps. It might be open right now.”_

_“Probably,” I admit, sitting up a bit. “What good does that do us, though? We can’t get to it.”_

_“Well, it’s nice to think about, isn’t it? We’re a little closer to freedom.”_

_I lean back on my pillow. “Yeah. Yeah, we are. One less door keeping us in here.” I smile into the black, relaxing at last. “I like that.”_

_“I know it doesn’t do anything.”_

_“It helps a little. You help a little,” I add._

_“Were you ever afraid of the dark when you were a kid?”_

_“No,” I say slowly. “I always felt safe.” I pause and chew on my fingers, considering this. “Which I guess was stupid. I should have been more scared.”_

_I was too trusting. I didn’t know about the evil that was lurking in my future, the darkness that was waiting to claim me. I didn’t know I would end up here._

_“The dark isn’t that bad,” she says. “You get used to it.”_

_“Yeah. Oh, wow,” I say suddenly._

_“What?”_

_“That is so weird,” I continue. “Did you feel that?”_

_“What?”_

_“The walls,” I say. “The electricity, it must have held them up somehow. They’re gone now. Just vanished. Can you feel it?” I put my fingers against the glass wall in the darkness and press against it, hard. “I’m reaching out for you. Oh, I can feel you now.” I want it to be true._

_“Yes,” she breathes. “You’re right beside me. God, you’re so warm.”_

_“Damn, girl,” I say abruptly. “How do you smell so good in here?”_

_She laughs lightly. “It must be something in the stream water, I guess?”_

_“Must be,” I agree. “God, that’s nice. I like it. I’m holding you close to me. My arms are wrapping around you. Can you feel me?”_

_“Your touch feels so good,” she says. “Hold me tighter?”_

_“Okay. Your skin is really soft,” I continue. “How’s this? Do you feel safer now?”_

_“Yes,” she whispers. “I do.”_

_“Me too.”_

_“Ow!” she says suddenly, and I can’t help but laugh. “Why’d you have to hold me so tight?”_

_“Because you told me to?” I ask. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just really like holding you. Let’s switch. Okay? You hold me instead.”_

_“No,” she says firmly. “Don’t let go. How about we both hold each other? You can hold me as tight as you want. I’ll be fine.”_

_“I’m not letting go,” I promise. Then I lick my lips and smile, dropping my voice to a low whisper. “What if I want to get frisky?”_

_She gasps. “You are so bad.”_

_“Yeah, well,” I say, blinking, “it’s been a long time since I got to hold a pretty girl like this. I’m not sure how much self-control I have left at this point.”_

_“Pretty? How do you know what I look like in the dark?”_

_“I could never forget your face,” I promise. “I always know what you look like. Every inch of you.” I pause and then laugh a little. “Is it weird that I think I actually know what it will feel like to hold you someday?”_

_“I think every day about what your face would feel like under my fingers,” she whispers intensely, and I shiver. For a moment, this is too real._

_“Okay. Now you’re really going to make me frisky. Here. Why don’t you reach up to me and touch my face? Then you can see me in the dark.”_

_“I do see you,” she breathes. “Oh!” She sounds surprised._

_“What?”_

_“You’re sad. I didn’t know.”_

_I swallow. She’s actually right. I don’t know how she does that from the other side of the glass in the pitch-black darkness. “I didn’t want you to know.”_

_“You don’t have to hide anything from me.”_

_“I know. I just don’t want you to see me like that. Not right now. I only want you to see the frisky kid. The one who’s not letting go of you, ever, once he gets his hands on you for real.”_

_“We fit so well together,” she continues. “You’re so strong.”_

_I laugh again. “Okay, don’t get carried away.”_

_“You are,” she insists. “Even now. Your strength, it feeds me. It helps me.”_

_I realize with a start that she’s not talking about my muscles. “I have to be strong for you,” I say seriously. “You deserve it.”_

_"Even when we can’t be together,” she whispers softly. “Even when you’re not here, when I’m waiting for you to come back, I feel your strength. Promise me you’ll always stay strong, Homer. For me.”_

_I’m silent as her words wrap around me. I don’t know how strong I really am. I’ve never felt less strong than I do here, helpless in the pitch-black darkness, lying all alone on a cold cot, praying desperately for our captor to come back and just turn on the lights for us. I feel wet tears in my eyes and I try to blink them away, even though I know she can’t see._

_“Homer,” she whispers. “Homer, it’s okay, you’re okay. I’m right here.”_

_“I’ll try to stay strong for you,” I promise, my voice hoarse, “as long as you promise to still be here with me, when I’m not.”_

_“Of course,” she whispers. “We’re going to get each other through this. Never forget. We’re angels.”_

_“We take care of each other.”_

_“That’s right.”_

_“That’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.” I release an involuntary shudder. “Prairie… I would have lost my mind so long ago in here if it wasn’t for you. I can’t even think about what I would be like right now if you never came. If you ever-“ I can’t finish the sentence. I can hear my own voice trembling at the thought._

_“I’m still here,” she says fiercely. “You can’t see me, you can’t feel me, but I’m still real. I’m always here with you.”_

_“I know,” I say quietly. My fingers flex in the darkness. Something feels strange about them. Like I can’t move them. Like my hands are tied. “I can feel you-”_

“Homer, wake up.”

I open my eyes. The darkness is gone. My young OA, young Prairie, is gone. She’s only a wisp of a memory, my soul’s defense against the present day horror.

I’m lying alone on a bunk in the brig. My hands are still bound by their zip tie. Eli is standing in front of the door, but all traces of his friendly, genial vibe are gone. His arms are folded, and his face is dark.

I don’t want to see this. The darkness was better. I close my eyes again as cold reality comes flooding back to me.

“I need to know if Rachel’s okay.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh. This that debrief you talked about?”

“This isn’t funny, Homer.”

“Nobody’s laughing.”

“You need to tell me this instant what you did with that missing disk.”

“No clue what you’re talking about.”

“Come on.”

I struggle to sit up, opening my eyes again. “If you’re missing something, it’s gotta be around here somewhere. Did you check under the couch cushions?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Never said you were. By the way, those other guys forgot about this, help a guy out?” I hold up my wrists to show him the zip tie.

“They were following orders. You attacked a staff member. Consider yourself lucky they didn’t cuff you from behind. I promise, you wouldn’t be as comfortable.”

I lower my hands to my lap in defeat. “This is some bullshit, Eli.”

“We gave you a chance. You proved you can’t be trusted.” I try not to react to his words, but the thought of being chained up from now on, unless they want me to dance like their puppet, makes me sick to my stomach. I have to get free somehow.

“How’s Rachel?” I ask again, more urgently.

“I’m more concerned with you right now.”

He knows. He just won’t tell me. Dick. “Come on, man. At least get me some real handcuffs here, so I can move a little? This fucking hurts.”

“I’ll see what I can do. If you can tell me what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything-” He continues to stare at me. “Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you what.”

“Right. Sure. Just remember, I know exactly where Prairie is, and she trusts me. A lot.”

His words send another unpleasant jolt through my system. Her words from a distant memory echo in my head. _You can’t see me, you can’t feel me, but I’m still real._ “You wouldn’t,” I whisper. _I’m always here with you_.

“I don’t want to. I really don’t. So help me. We reviewed the tape and saw exactly what happened. We think you made another breakthrough. We think you know where that disk went. Tell me I’m right.”

I swallow. I don’t want to cry in front of this asshole. I set my jaw. “I. Don’t. _Know_." 

“Homer. I want you to think long and hard about your priorities. I know you’re not stupid.”

I sit up on my bunk, blinking, feeling desperate. “Maybe I did something...”

“Oh, did you now? That’s progress.”

“…But I don’t know what. You have to believe me! Please. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt her. She’s not here, she didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“I think she had everything to do with this. But right now,” he continues, “I want you to sit here by yourself and think real hard. You’re going to figure out where the hell that disk went, and when I come back, I’m going to need answers.”

And with that, he stalks off.

My breath comes hard and fast. My hands tremble against the tight plastic surrounding them.

All that fucking trust he tried to cultivate, acting like he was on my side. I knew it was too good to be true, but still, it hurts to see the proof of what I always knew - that he was never on my side. No one is on our side here. It’s all about the research. Nobody cares about us, except for us. All they want to do is exploit us, it’s all a means to a cruel end, and I can’t even protect anyone anymore.

I _could_ tell him about the disk. It would be easy enough. Maybe I could convince them to let me out. Maybe I could at least be reunited with the others. Maybe I would find out if Rachel is okay. Maybe OA would be safe.

 _Maybe_ …

Until the next time they want something from me.

That’s my problem. I’m a prisoner. I always have been. That’s never changed.

The movements aren’t enough. I had one play, and I’ve made it now. If I fold too easily, I’ll lose that leverage forever.

Right now, I have this one small glimmer of power. They don’t know where the disk is and I do. Once I give that information up, I go back to being powerless. But I would survive.

 _Survive_. I’ve survived so goddamn much. I don’t know how much survival I have left. It should have made me stronger, it should have made me more resilient, but all it’s done is break me. I’m broken. I know I’m broken. After years of struggling to fight back, I have to finally admit the truth. Maybe Hap won and I lost.

Maybe I never had a chance.

Hours into the night, I lie awake and restless, my hands pressed uncomfortably to my cheek, my wrists throbbing and burning, wondering if any of it was real.

Did I fool myself too well? Was there ever really a Prairie, a Rachel, a Scott, or a Renata? Did I really die, again and again, and travel somewhere beyond to unlock some of humankind’s greatest mysteries? Did I really fly to Cuba in a mad scientist’s plane? Did I really discover a way to move _just_ the right way to bring someone back to life, or to heal disease? How is that possible? Is any of it really possible? It’s like a fever dream. I can’t touch it. I can’t know what’s real.

Did I allow myself to believe things that anyone else would realize were insane, because it was the only thing that would keep me from going mad myself?

Maybe I’ve been here all along. Maybe Hap put me here from the beginning, and I’ve been fooling myself this whole time. Maybe only now am I starting to regain a hint of my sanity. Or maybe there never was a Hap, and maybe I’ve been trapped in a prison of my own mind all this time, ever since my first serious head injury.

None of it makes any more sense than the rest of it.

The air in my cell grows colder in the night. I manage to wiggle enough to zip my hoodie and pull the hood tight over my head. I tuck my hat in front of my face, breathing into it, trying to preserve my warmth. My skin is growing raw from where the zip tie is rubbing on my skin. I try to shift to move the pressure away from it, but there’s not much that I can do.

Minutes slip into hours. A meal comes, then before I know it, another.

I pick awkwardly at the bland food with my barely useful hands, trying to maintain sustenance. I’m not sure it’s worth it. What do I have left to live for, anyway? If I let myself die here, I could cross permanently into another dimension, and maybe OA would join me there, if she’s real. Maybe she’s already there. Maybe I’m already there and I don’t know it.

I pray quietly, something I haven’t done in a long time, for Rachel to be okay. I hope that she hasn’t crossed over. The silence is terrifying. I hope she hasn’t left us. If she had a decision to make, I hope that August wasn’t standing there, tempting her, whispering to her and asking her to come.

I know there have been times, over the years, when she would have chosen to stay with her. Things are different now. Aren’t they?

I can only hope there’s enough now to keep Rachel here, with us, with Scott, with Renata, with her brother, but I don’t know. I really don’t know anymore. I can’t forget the look on her face when she asked me about finding August.

I start to lie to myself. I’ve always been good at that.

I lean against the wall, close my eyes, and imagine I’m not alone. I’m back in Hap’s mine, where everything is terrifying and overwhelming, but at least I know that when I open my eyes, I’ll be staring into a pair of wise blue ones looking back at me. This isn’t a cement wall that I’m curled against, but the familiar damp, humid glass of Hap’s cage. And if I drift off to sleep, I’ll hear OA’s voice, whispering to me out of the darkness, over the hum of the lights and the trickle of an underground stream.

_Homer…_

_Homer, it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m right here…_

But in the lab, I was never fully alone. Not like this. Even in the beginning, when I was drowning in the lowest depths of my own depression and grief, there was Rachel in the next cell, whispering to August, or Scott muttering scathing remarks about Hap. And then one day, suddenly, there was this strange and beautiful celestial being on the other side of my glass, leading me on what seemed like a fools’ quest to become something greater than I could ever have dreamed of on my own.

_We’re angels._

Now, I’m truly and deeply alone, for the first time.

This is the fear I didn’t want to have to face, the terror of being alone - without friends, without movements, with only me and my thoughts and my doubts and my questions.

My soul by itself is a dark place.

I don’t want to be alone with it.

“Homer?”

I can even hear Rachel’s voice, faintly, as if she’s right here with me. I’m getting better at lying to myself. My God. It almost sounds real.

“Homer, open your eyes. Please.”

I open them, but no one is there.

It’s true. It’s happened. After all this time, I’m finally losing my sanity.

“ _Homer!_ ”

My eyes focus on the edge of the bunk. I sit up slowly.

There’s a football sitting by my feet.

Startled, I sit all the way up and look around quickly.

The door is locked shut. I’m alone. That hasn’t changed since I entered the cell. No one could have entered without me hearing.

I reach for the ball gingerly. I don’t fully believe that it’s here until my fingers close around the laces and I feel its weight in my palms and, holy shit, it’s the same football I bought at Target, and it’s _real_.

“Thank you,” I whisper into the emptiness.

I sense something in the air around me, as though Rachel or some piece of her is fading away, but I like to think that she heard me before she had to leave.

The most important thing is that Rachel’s okay now. Whatever was happening to her when we tried to transport the disk, she’s recovered. She’s back with the others. She came back to Scott. She’s back in action. She’s fine.

I don’t even know how she managed to recover enough to get the football here. It must have been another assault to her fragile system, but somehow, she managed to do it. For me. Part of me wants to find her and throttle her and tell her it wasn’t necessary, but I can’t deny that I needed it. Badly. 

I cradle the ball tightly to my chest, close my eyes, and press my lips to it. I’ve never been so happy to hold a fucking football.

No matter what they do to us, we’re still something greater than they can conceive. Even surrounded by isolation and locks and zip ties, even when I can’t do the movements, there’s still someone nearby who cares about me, who’s there for me, and who can’t be stopped by any of their pathetic artificial barriers.

I curl up on the bunk with my back to the door and the ball snuggled tight in my arms. I tuck the thin blanket over me so I can try to steal a few more hours before the goons realize I have contraband. Maybe they’ll take it away. I don’t care. They can confiscate it. Let them puzzle over how I got it. Let them theorize about what we’ve learned to do. Let it drive them all crazy. I’m going to keep this secret for as long as I can, and I’ll still survive when I can’t.

I reach into my pocket. I had almost forgotten that I still had the braid in there. All the tension leaves my body as I rub the strand of blond hair between my fingers. Biocentrism. It’s all in my mind, yes, but my mind now believes. I know. _She’s real_. Nina Azarova, Prairie Johnson, my OA, is not a figment of my imagination. She exists, and so does every ounce of the power and magic we created together with our tribe, because it got a reminder down here to me, in the darkness of my pain when I needed it most.

I’m so powerful that they have no choice but to tie me down. They’re afraid of what I can do. But because of that, I’ll also never be truly alone.

“I’m not alone,” I whisper to myself as I curl up around the ball and secure the blanket around myself. I repeat it again and again. My mantra. “I’m not alone. I’m not alone. I’m never alone.” I pull the braid from my pocket and press it to my lips, then press it into the tucked-up seam at the lid of my baseball cap. Maybe it’s denial, maybe I’m losing my mind, maybe I’m still lying to myself. Maybe it’s insanity to believe that a _football_ could have magically teleported into my jail cell to remind me that Rachel and the others still exist somewhere, to tell me she’s okay, but I feel safe and comforted at the thought. I’m not alone. Not really. I never will be.

I feel more tears on my face, but this time they’re tears of relief.

I manage to sleep soundly for what must be hours. When I wake up, there’s another tray with breakfast. I don’t know how long it’s been sitting there. Cold, gummy eggs and lukewarm bread and the standard watery tin of coffee. I tuck the football in a pile of my blanket so they won’t notice it, hide the sugar packets as usual, and then settle on the floor to nibble at the tray.

After I’m done, I’m too rested to sleep, but I don’t want to deal with this reality, either. I sit on the floor and try doing a series of sit-ups and crunches. I only manage a few sets before I’m exhausted. I lie back on the floor, my eyes closed, trying to convince myself that I’m anywhere but here.

I’m pleasantly surprised when Eli turns up at the door with a set of real handcuffs on a short chain dangling from his fist.

I twist around and lean back against my bunk, trying to play it cool. “You found some.”

He steps aside and Hap appears beside him. I stiffen immediately.

“Let’s make a deal,” Hap says. “We’ll switch you out, but first, I’m gonna need you to tell me what happened to that disk." 

I feel a jolt of anxiety. I rub at my wrists and say nothing.

“It’s not just the handcuffs,” Eli says. “We are serious about this. This is your last chance. If you don’t tell us where the disk is, your friends are not going to be happy, starting with Prairie.”

“Rachel’s okay,” I say helpfully. “If you were wondering.”

He doesn’t ask how I know. “You know Rachel needs you to cooperate right now. You know what’s on the line for her.”

I glance down quietly at the raw skin on my wrists. I can sacrifice myself, but how can I sacrifice Rachel or her brother? He’s truly innocent in all of this. He never got a choice. She would tell me not to worry, to protect our secret, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree. I’m _not_ alone. But I don’t want anything worse to happen to the others, either.

“How far are you going to make me go?” Eli asks quietly. “I don’t want to have to do this. But I will.”

For once, I believe him. I tilt my head back and close my eyes. “I told you. I don’t know where it ended up.”

“But you know you did something,” Hap presses. “Come on, Homer. Don’t you want to keep Prairie safe? Don’t you care about what happens to her?”

“I do, Hap,” I say, my eyes still closed, furious emotion welling inside me. “I truly do.”

“Then you know what you have to do.” He waits. He’s going to wait as long as it takes.

He’s right. We both know what I have to do.

“It’s with the angels,” I say softly.

“What do you mean?” Hap demands. “You opened a portal?”

“No,” I say, opening my eyes. “Nothing like that, I mean…” I take a deep breath. “The disk is in the book. Scott’s book, the one about angels. It was in a stack with his other books, and I was thinking about Prairie. Her bedroom. They must have somehow gone to her. That’s all I can tell you.” I hold my wrists out and wait.

Hap and Eli exchange a look and Eli opens the door, revealing Reilly and Miguel behind him. Reilly holds my arms steady while Miguel cuts the zip tie off, and then the cuffs are snapped on and locked instead. I gingerly test my range of motion. It’s a little better, a little more comfortable. It’s still not much.

“I’ll talk to Jeremy and get clearance to go look for it,” Eli says to Hap, who nods curtly.

I squeeze my eyes shut. There. It’s done.

I sold myself out, for a few more inches of freedom and a threat against the people I care about. There’s still a chance she’ll find the disk in time, but it’s slim. I’ve handed my fate over to fortune. Fortune and I have never been good friends.

Once again, I made a desperate grasp for freedom and put everything I had on the line. Once again, I failed.

“If you find the disk,” I say slowly, opening my eyes again, “will you let me call my father?”

Eli gives me a wry smile, the first hint I’ve seen down here of the old Eli, the one who wanted me to believe he was my friend. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

I sit back on the bunk, careful not to startle them. “What if I could heal someone?” I continue. “I could make it work. I promise.”

Eli shakes his head. “It’s going to be awhile before that’s on the table, Homer.”

I blink furiously, because I don’t want them to see the tears coming to my eyes, but I can see Miguel studying me closely, which makes me feel even worse.

“Jeremy said he still wants to get those tests done. The appointment is supposed to be today,” Miguel says quietly to Eli.

Eli nods in agreement. “Homer, will you behave if they take you off the premises today?” 

I straighten up. I had forgotten all about the tests they mentioned. “Are you joking?”

“Listen,” Hap says, fixing me with a look. “No shenanigans. One hint of trouble from you, and the others will all be locked back up in their own cells, too.” 

He knows what makes me tick. I can’t hide my deepest fears from Hap. I swallow, but I nod. “No shenanigans,” I promise, my voice cracking. “No, sir.”

“Get him cleaned up first,” Hap orders dismissively. “He’s filthy.” 

Betts and Miguel both escort me to the shower, which seems a little overkill to me. These people are truly afraid of me now. I guess they should be. I wonder how close I was to killing Reilly. I’ve never killed a person myself, so I’m not sure.

They take the cuffs off but both study me closely as I go through the motions of undressing. Miguel sets fresh clothes on the stool for me.

“Don’t take my hat,” I say automatically. Miguel moves the hat over to the fresh clothes. I nod a thank you to him.

As I scrub at my flesh beneath the stream of water, I glance over my shoulder and catch Betts staring at me from behind. I stiffen automatically. But he’s not looking down. He’s looking up.

“Why would you do that to yourself?” he asks softly, studying the scars on my back.

“Because it mattered,” I reply simply. I can’t look at his face. I don’t want to see the emptiness, the lack of compassion.

I rinse off the last of the soap and stand beneath the stream, my eyes closed, my hands hanging down at my sides. Naked. Free. Unchained.

Tentatively, carefully, I raise them to my head, the start of the first movement.

“Hell, no, you don’t,” Betts says, moving in. “Nice try.” I sigh with reluctant acceptance as he shuts off the water and hands me a towel.

It’s a long ride to the medical facility, and they put me back in handcuffs, but at least I’m clean. Betts drives, and Miguel sits in the back beside me, between me and the door, trapping me inside. We’re silent for awhile. I look out at the trees and cars. Once upon a time, I used to belong in this world, and now I feel so distant from it. I wonder when I’ll get to see trees again. It’s like they’re calling to me now, whispering, trying to send me healing energy, because they know how much I need it. The people around me are bastards, but the trees still care. No. I’m losing my goddamn mind. Trees?

When we get to the medical facility, Miguel unlocks the cuffs.

“Are you guys serious with this?” I ask, shaking my hands out. I hold them up so they can see the blisters and torn skin and bright red irritation on my wrists. “You don’t think anyone’s going to ask questions?”

“Here?” Betts asks. “No. But if they do, you’ll tell them the right answers. Won’t you?”

After a moment, I nod my assent, hating myself even as I do.

This radiology center doesn’t ask questions. They accept that I’m an inpatient from a psychiatric facility, which I gather from the exchange that Miguel has with them at the desk. Fucking mindless jerks. And when I’m taken back to change into a gown, Miguel joins me to assist.

“Seriously?” I ask him, once the staff leaves us alone in the waiting room. “The fuck is this?”

Miguel shakes his head at me. “Look, kid, why are you asking me questions you know I can’t answer?”

I heave a sigh and change into the gown. I hurl my clothes at him.

“You know you can put those away yourself,” he says.

“I thought I needed an aide in here with me,” I shoot back. “I’m the crazy one, remember?”

He dumps my clothes on the bench. “You know your problem?” he begins.

“What?” I ask, hotly. “Where do you want to start?”

“You don’t give other people enough credit,” he says. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, enters a code to unlock it, and sets it down carefully on top of my clothes.

I look back up at him, my heart suddenly frozen with shock as I realize what he’s suggesting. “I don’t meet a lot of people who deserve it,” I say slowly.

“I really have to take a piss,” Miguel says. He exits the changing area with a pointed look at me, and I’m alone.

Alone.

With his phone.

Is this a trap? Maybe. I eye the phone warily and glance around the changing room. There aren't any cameras in here. We aren’t under Jeremy’s eye right now.  
  
Sure, maybe they're testing to see if I'll take the bait. But so what if I do? What can they do to me at this point that they haven’t already done? They know I’ll do it. They know me well enough to know I’d act.

No, I think back to the looks that Miguel has been giving me all day, and I realize.

This is no trap. This is a gift.  
  
With a decisive flourish, I lunge for the phone. I quickly enter a search on his web browser for "abel johnson michigan". I get a hit back within seconds, and I press the button that initiates a phone call. I hold my breath as the phone starts to ring through to the Michigan number. She might be able to hear it ring right now.  
  
What would I even say?  
  
"Is Prairie there?"  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
"A friend. Please, sir. I need her quickly."  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"OA."  
  
"…Homer? What? Is that really you?"  
  
"Yes, yes, _yes_."  
  
"Where are you? Tell me how I find you.”  
  
"I don't know. Find the disk in the books I sent you, quickly. Trace this number if you can. It's one of the guards. Tell the police. Not the FBI, you can't trust them."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"I have to go in a minute, it's not safe."  
  
"I believe in you."  
  
"I believe in you more."  
  
But that’s not what happened. The phone is still ringing, and then it goes dead.

The voices are only in my head. I lied to myself again. No one is answering. No machine. No soft voice telling me she believes in me.

I can’t reach her.

Instead, I enter my father’s cell phone number. I have every digit memorized. It rings through to a voicemail. In a way, I’m almost relieved.

“Hello, you’ve reached Charlie Roberts. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a message.”

I don’t know what to say. Hearing his voice yanks me back to a time and place I thought I’d forgotten, a life that died inside me a long time ago. I have to say something into the silence. I have to say something to him after all this time. I know he can’t help me now, even if I could find some way to tell him anything close to the truth, so I settle on the only words that matter.

“Dad,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “It’s me. I’ll try to call you back, as soon as I can. I don’t know when. But I love you, and I miss you, and I’m sorry about everything.”

I end the call and toss the phone back on my clothes, staring at it. What else is there to do? Who am I supposed to call? After all this time, I don’t know where to start.

The door opens. Miguel looks at the phone on the clothes and picks it up. “Oops,” he says casually. He hits a few buttons and I glance over his shoulder. I realize he’s deleting the evidence of what I’ve done. 

He looks up and our eyes meet, direct and intense. He wants me to understand. He wants me to know.

I nod back at him. Maybe it’s not much, maybe I didn’t actually get much out of it, but he’s done far more than I could have hoped for. He’s done more than anyone else. 

I retreat into myself for the rest of the MRI. There’s not much to be afraid of, trapped in a large machine, after I spent years trapped in a glass box. It doesn’t bother me anymore. If anything, I feel free right now, knowing that my father has a voicemail from me. He knows I’m alive. Someone knows I still exist.

As soon as we’re back in the van, Miguel gently places the handcuffs back on my wrists with an apologetic look. I don’t resist, even though they bump against my raw skin, even more so as the van starts to move.

“She told me everything, you know,” Miguel says out of the silence.

I raise my eyebrows at him, but I say nothing.

“How he took her,” he says. “How you helped.”

I shake my head, looking out the window. “It’s all true,” I mumble. I shrug. There isn’t much else I can say.

"She also told me how she forgave you."

I look back at him sharply.

“If she can forgive you, after that?” He shakes his head. “You must be special.”  
  
“Or maybe she is,” I say. “Take care of her, please. She deserves it.”

I can’t say what I really want to say – that Renata deserves _better_ than this. But I see a glimmer of something in Miguel’s eyes. Recognition. Humanity. I’m starting to see what she was talking about.

Maybe she was right. They _aren’t_ all evil. They _don’t_ all think that this is okay. Maybe they aren’t truly good people, but things aren’t always black and white, after all. Maybe there’s still some good left, somewhere in the world.

I stare back down at the handcuffs in my lap.

“You should know,” Miguel continues quietly. “Everyone’s talking about your other friend. They say she’s in the news again.”

He has my full attention now. “Why?”

“Some scandal. She was doing something with some kids. It doesn’t sound good.”

“Kids?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. “What, like a pedophile?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, they said she was, like, stripping and shit.”

That makes absolutely no sense. I don’t know what to make of it. But she’s been misunderstood her entire life, so it doesn’t surprise me that it would happen again. Still, it worries me. Maybe she never even had a chance to see the disk. Maybe there’s too much else going on.

Maybe she’d be better off back with us after all.

No. That’s not true.

Still, I know she needs me. Whatever is happening, it doesn’t sound good, and somehow, it’s related to all of this. How could it not be? The only way this will end, and the only way everything will stop, is with us together. Together and free. Someday. Somehow.

As we reach the cell, Miguel hands something to me. I look down, hoping it’s his phone, but it’s not. It’s something else. The deck of cards from the apartment.

“You’re welcome,” he says gruffly.

“Gracias,” I manage to choke out, as sincere as I can be.

They deposit me back in the cell and I’m left alone again with my thoughts and the deck of cards. I pat at the blanket. The ball is still there. No one has found it yet. I allow myself a small smile as I reach for the cards. This is good. Something to do. I’m starting to realize that my own thoughts are not the best company for me to have.

I settle down on the bed to open the deck. I start by sorting the cards, to make sure they’re all here. I fumble a few of them, but I’m getting the hang of moving my hands together in chains. My new normal. 

I move into a seated position on the floor, using the bunk as a table, and awkwardly manage to shuffle the deck before dealing out a game of Solitaire. It’s not easy and it takes me a few minutes to figure out, but it’s not like I’m on a schedule.

As I spread the cards out on the bed, I swallow and lick my lips. It’s still silent here. Too silent.

I start to hum to myself silently as I deal, a tune I heard not so long ago, though it feels like forever.

The mouse and the moon.

The glow and buzz of the lights and the trickle of the stream, and Rachel singing softly to me through the glass, and Scott pacing his cell peeking over his shoulder with concern while pretending he doesn’t care, and Renata leaning back against her outside wall with her eyes closed, taking in the melody with the rest of us.

_Then, we’ll be together_

_Somewhere, out there_

_Out where dreams_

_Come true_

Someday.

Someday needs to hurry the hell up, because I don’t know how much longer I can take all of this.

 


	16. The Quarterback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy makes a proposal, and Homer makes a play.

At least two more days pass before anyone else comes to visit me. I’m being forgotten down here. Or ignored. I’m not sure which one is worse.

I lie listlessly on my bunk, staring into my hat, surrounded by the color of her eyes, trying as hard as I can to remember what it felt like to have her next to me all the time.

I whisper into the hat, knowing my broken angel can’t hear me, but I need to talk to her anyway. It’s been so long since I talked to her. It’s been so long since she was here.

“It’s getting harder to stay strong, OA,” I say, as softly as I can. “I’m getting used to you not being here, and that makes everything worse.” I’m quiet for a long moment. “I don’t want to be used to that.” I used to see her face every time I closed my eyes, and I don’t anymore.

Evelyn’s words echo in my head. _It’s a matter of will… it’s always a matter of will._ I have the will, but I still don’t have a way to escape. I don’t have a way to get to her. The more I try to fight, the deeper I sink into their control.

“Homer?”

I didn’t hear anyone walk up. I don’t move from my mattress as the door unlocks and slides open before clanging shut again. I don’t even lift my hat up to look. It’s helping me hide from all the unpleasantness that surrounds me. 

“Can we talk?”

“What is there to talk about?”

“How is everything?”

I drag myself back up to a seating position and turn around, tilting my head back so that I can see. Jeremy is standing there with Lou, who’s holding a medication cup.

“Great,” I say. “Absolutely fabulous. Your risotto was a little watery, but the roast chicken was succulent, and the hazelnut torte just capped it off to perfection.”

“You’re very funny.”

Yeah, well, I try. I lean back against the wall and lightly shake my handcuffs at him as a response.

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you. Please, take that hat off.”

I reach up to slide it back, just enough so that I can see his eyes. I’m not taking it off for him.

“I came to see if you wanted some help getting to sleep tonight.”

“No, thanks.” I glance at the medication in Lou’s hand and swallow, feeling anxious already. “I’m good.”

“I’m sure it’s not easy to sleep with those on.” He nods at my hands and I rub my wrists nervously.

“So you’re here to take them off?”

“I’m here to try to help you,” he says gently. “Look. I know none of this is easy. You panicked with Reilly. That’s understandable. You’re only human. You were trying to defend yourself. You acted rashly with the disk, but everything’s better now that we have it back. The cat’s back in the bag, all thanks to you. Nothing has gone too far. It’s not too late. Not yet.”

“Oh,” I say faintly. “Then what do I have to do to get back to my friends?" 

He continues on as if he didn’t even hear me. “How did you get that disk all the way to Michigan? What did you do? We’ve asked the others. They all insist they have no idea.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know either.”

“I don’t believe that. You told Eli that you were thinking about Prairie somehow.”

“I’m always thinking about her,” I say without thinking, then realize I shouldn’t. I stare down at the cuffs again.

“You need her here with you.”

“No,” I say, quickly and roughly. “No.” I lower the brim of my hat again, trying to hide my face.

“Would it really be so bad for her?” he asks gently. “You must know what her home life is like. You don’t think she’d rather be here with you?”

I can feel the wolf rousing from a deep sleep. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

“Homer,” Jeremy says. He walks over to the bed and sits down beside me. He reaches over to tilt my hat up again, to see my face. I stiffen and lean away reflexively.

“It’s over,” I say, my voice crackling with anger. “You won. You got your disk back. I don’t know what else you want from me.”

“I want to work with you,” Jeremy says softly. “I’ve told you that from the beginning. I want you to be my quarterback. I don’t think you’re a lost cause. I want to help you get better.”

I finger the chain between my hands. “Yep. Sure looks like it.”

“I’m serious, Homer. This latest development is… it’s remarkable. You transported those objects hundreds of miles away in the blink of an eye. My God. How? You’re challenging the very fabric of everything we know about matter and reality. You’re incredible. And I feel like that’s just the beginning.”

“Oh.” I can’t tell him that it was Rachel. I can’t put her at risk. She has a brother she has to protect. I’m taking the heat for her, and I want to keep it that way. I have to keep the football hidden, too. I don’t have any way to explain it that doesn’t implicate the others. It all has to be on me. That’s the only way.

“I got to see your MRI results,” Jeremy offers, suddenly changing tracks abruptly.

“Did you?”

He nods. “They’re perfectly normal.”

“Great,” I say weakly.

“Sure,” he says. “It’s wonderful news for you. But it’s also completely bizarre and inexplicable.”

I rub at my chain again, feeling even more uncomfortable. “Why?”

“Because I’ve also seen the records from your accident. By all accounts, you should have had clear scarring on your brain from the extent of your injuries. No question. That doesn’t go away. And yet, for you, for Homer Roberts, it did.”

I look up at him, startled. “What do you mean?”

“You healed yourself, Homer.”

I shake my head emphatically, looking back down. “No, no, we never-“

“Maybe you never tried. Maybe you never meant to. But I don’t know if you even know what you’re doing half the time.” Well. That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. I clear my throat but still refuse to meet his eyes. “You know,” he continues, surveying me up and down, “you don’t even look like anyone’s idea of a quarterback. So explain to me, how did you do that? How did you play so well, at something that anyone who looked at you would say that you had no business doing?”

I suck in a deep breath. “That was a long time ago-“

He cuts me off. “I think you were special before you ever had your first near-death experience. Before you ever met Dr. Percy.”

“That wasn’t me,” I say slowly. “That was someone else. Another lifetime.” I’ve died so many times since then.

“I’ve been researching your college stats. They were really something else. You were smart.”

I swallow, hard. “Numbers can be deceiving,” I say slowly.

He presses on, as if he hadn’t heard me. “You knew the flow of the game as if it was part of you. You understood what all the other players were going to do, almost before they did. You saw the whole field in a flash, and you knew exactly where to go. Isn’t that right?”

He’s describing me exactly the way my coaches at Pershing used to, and I really don’t like it. He doesn’t have the right. “That was my job. It’s what I was supposed to do.”

“No,” Jeremy says slowly. “That’s how you beat everyone else who was supposed to be doing the same thing.”

“I had good teammates-“

He’s still not listening to my objections. “All those kids coming straight for you, over and over, but you always knew exactly what to do to get the ball through them.”

"No. Not always,” I say quietly. “I took a lot of hits.” Probably too many.

“Sure,” Jeremy agrees. “When there was no other way out.”

“It’s just a game,” I whisper.

“It’s a game that you were damn good at,” Jeremy says firmly. “And I think you still are.”

I shake my head. “I haven’t even seen a field in years.”

“I’m not talking about football.”

There’s silence between us for a long moment.

“…But I thought we were talking about football,” I finally say, hesitant.

“What you do, Homer, it’s almost preternatural.”

“No,” I insist. “No, there’s nothing special about it. Hard work and grit, same as anybody else. That’s all. Maybe I just wanted it more than the other guys.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Jeremy says. “This isn’t one of your postgame press conferences. That’s not what I’m talking about at all.”

“It’s the only thing I was ever good at, Jeremy,” I sigh, straightening up. “Come on. Give me a break here.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s true, either. You have talents we’ve only barely begun to tap into.”

I lean back, resolved. “What are you trying to say, and how is it going to get me out of these cuffs?”

Jeremy’s face shifts, tightens, grows more serious. “Think about how much you could change the world. You. Think about what that would mean. How beloved you would be. How valued you would be. How rich you could be. You’re a superstar, and the world needs to know about you. Think about what your son would say.”

"My son,” I repeat, and my voice cracks again. “You found him?”

“Not yet,” he says quietly. “But if we shared you with the world, it wouldn’t take long, would it.” It’s not a question.

“I still wouldn’t be free, would I.” Neither is that.

“I think you understand the constraints we’re under.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“What do I do with you, Homer Roberts?” he asks. I think it’s a rhetorical question. I stay silent, studying the brim of my hat from below. “I thought that giving you freedoms and ending all your deprivation would help, but it feels like it’s only made things worse, for you and for all of us. Look at me,” he says, turning so that he’s facing me directly. His eyes meet mine, intense and probing. “This project needs you, Homer. The world needs you. Humankind needs you. I can’t replace you. I understand that this is difficult, and you’re in a terrible position, but I’ve done everything in my power to make the decision as easy for you as possible." 

“You’re right,” I say slowly. “You have.”

He relaxes somewhat and offers a friendly smile. I don’t respond. He rises to his feet and takes a step back. “I’d really like for you to get some sleep. All right? Dream off whatever’s bothering you. We can chat again in the morning, when you feel better.”

“All right.” Anything to get him out of the room.

“Lou has a pill for you.”

I press my lips together and shake my head firmly.

“Homer. It’ll help. Please.”

“You want to help me sleep? Take these off for the night.” Desperate, I shove my fists in his direction again, the chain dangling between them.

“I can’t do that yet. I’m sorry. It’s a security issue. But if you rest-”

“I’ll rest on my own, thanks.” I lower my hands and look away. He’s a fucking liar. If they cared about security, my hands wouldn’t be in front of me, where I could still grab or choke someone. They’re not even worried about that. They just don’t want me doing the movements.

They’re not afraid of my strength. They’re afraid of my power.

“I’d prefer it if you took the pill,” Jeremy continues firmly.

“Why do you want me to take it so badly?”

His forehead creases with concern. “Because. I want you to be able to settle down. Clear your head. Get yourself together. I really want you to get some good rest, so we can have a better conversation tomorrow.”

“I promise, I’ll sleep,” I insist. “But I can’t promise that I’ll change my mind about anything." 

“Homer,” he says sternly. “Take the pill, please. That’s all I’m asking of you right now.”

“For you, Jeremy?” I ask.

He relaxes. “Yes. Please.”

“Fine.” I rise slowly to my feet. Lou takes a step closer to me. Compliantly, passively, I open my mouth. Lou places the pill on my tongue.

I close my mouth and roll the pill around for a moment, getting it into position, tasting its bitterness, then I spit it out violently at Jeremy, forcing it across the room with a pocket of spittle.

The pill ricochets off his face and crashes to the ground, where the moisture from my mouth keeps it from skittering away.

Jeremy blinks and wipes his face where the pill hit him, while Lou retrieves it and drops it back into the cup. I watch with silent satisfaction as the realization sets in on his face.

“Homer. This is not you.”

“You’re wrong, Jeremy,” I say, straightening up. I can feel the wolf rising within me again, but it’s not angry this time. It’s not out of control. It’s measured. It’s calm and confident. “This is me. The real me. It always has been. I want you to understand that, loud and clear.”

“So Hap was right about you.”

I steel myself. “I don’t belong to Hap, or you, or anyone else. I won’t be a puppet, and I won’t be anyone’s quarterback. Not anymore. Go ahead and kill me if you have to.” I straighten up, looking him dead in the eye for the first time, not blinking. “I know where I’m going. Do you?”

He wipes his face one more time, trying to catch the last of the spittle. “I’m sorry to hear that’s how you feel. I had hoped for much more.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t always get what you want.” I reach up to pull the brim of my hat down to cover my eyes again. I’m done looking at him.

“Take that hat off right now,” he barks, impatient. 

“No,” I mutter, turning away from him and tilting my head down.

“Homer?” he asks, his tone a warning. 

“No… sir,” I say. I see his feet approaching me, and before I know it, he’s ripped the hat from my head.

I stiffen, my hands flying up, but it’s too late. It’s in his hands. “Hey-!”

“You’ve hidden underneath this long enough, my friend." 

“That’s mine!” I growl. I reach for it, but he pulls it away.

“Nothing here is yours.” I’ve always known that, but hearing him say it so bluntly is chilling.

“No. I won’t hide, I promise – please, don’t.” I’m begging, and I don’t like it, but I don’t have another choice. I _need_ that hat. I lunge one more time for it, but he yanks it away, out of my reach.

“I’m going to hold on to this for now, and I want you to think about your attitude.”

The braid is still in there, folded in the rim. Her hair tie. Her _hair_. The only piece of her that’s ever touched my lips. The only thing I have left that proves she’s real. “Give me that back,” I say tightly. “Please. I need it.”

Lou and Jeremy walk out of the cell and the door slams shut, leaving me trapped on the other side of it. I sprint to the door, chasing them, desperate.

“Come on! It’s just a hat.”

“Then you shouldn’t miss it,” Jeremy says, brandishing the cap inches away from me. I bang on the bars of the door, frustrated. “I think it’s time for you to sit out in the open with us for awhile, Homer Roberts.”

The wolf roars, and I see a hint of fear in Lou’s eyes. He retreats and follows Jeremy down the hall.

I collapse back on my bunk, trembling with defeat.

This is another one of those hits I couldn’t manage to get away from, another play without an escape.

“It’s an object,” I whisper to myself, pulling my knees to my chest. “It’s just a thing.” It’s not her. It has nothing to do with her. She’s never even seen the hat. The hair fell off her painlessly long ago. She’s still fine. Somewhere. Or maybe she’s not, but losing the hat and the braid don’t mean anything. But they were symbols, symbols that mattered, and they were all I had left of her.

I remember her telling me about totems and how she thought that they helped people process trauma and grief.

She never told me what happened when totems were destroyed.

I rock myself back and forth gently on the bunk, pulling my knees to my chest. I feel like I’ve lost her, all over again. She worked so hard to give me that piece of her, so many nights alone thinking of nothing but me, and that _bastard_ took her away in a moment, without even realizing what he was doing.

It feels like reliving it all over again. Hap, brandishing his gun, pointing it at me, barking out orders, threatening to murder me. OA, screaming my name. The sharp scent of gunpowder mixed with blood in the air. The sight of her disappearing behind a door, the slams and screams from the other side, her voice slipping into nothingness, my hands pounding the door, shaking the doorknob, useless, worthless, fresh blood pooling off the bed and around my bare feet.

_No._

I straighten up. I have to live with it, but I’m the only one making myself relive it. I don’t want to. I don’t want this. I want something else now.

Renata’s words echo in my head. Forgiveness. _Start with letting go of your anger. The rest can come later._

Jeremy doesn’t even realize what he just did to me. He has no idea what he took away. _But he does know_ , a voice inside tells me. _He knows he helped take your life away._ Everything else is secondary.

Why? Why would he _do_ this to us? Why would he try to win my trust, gamble with Rachel’s brother, pressure us for information, manipulate me, control me?

Because, I realize, he’s just like Hap. He genuinely believes that this experiment will lead to better things for humanity.

Jeremy did try to make it more humane for us, at least for a time. He tried to give us freedom and food and family. Things we craved. Things we needed.

His failure was that he needed to control me if he was ever going to have a chance of really getting what he wanted, and he never could do that. I wouldn’t let him.

His failure was that he thought he could find a compromise, a balance between our freedom and Hap’s work. He never realized that it was impossible. That it was never going to be an option.

His failure was that he didn’t fully understand the evils he was trying to wrestle with, or the fact that they could never come close to balancing out his greater good.

 _That’s_ what I need to forgive him for. How much grace is there in that, Renata?

I wonder what Jeremy would experience in an NDE. I feel like I have a pretty good idea.

I sit up and retrieve the deck of cards, then spread them out on Scott's bunk. I'll always think of it as Scott's bunk, even though he sleeps somewhere else upstairs now, because it helps me forget that I'm alone down here.

I'm only able to move about ten cards before I run out of moves. I’m stuck. I shuffle through the cards, my frustration rising. I've dealt myself a terrible hand. There's nothing to do except change the rules - change my deal count - or deal new cards. It's just like everything else in my life. I can't win this hand, no matter what I do.

Except, I  _can_ change the rules. And I  _can_ deal new cards.

It's so obvious when I'm playing Solitaire, but what can I do about this game that is my insane, crazy, frustrating existence? How do I change my own fortune? How do I change the rules? How do I get new cards, when I can’t even move my own hands where I want?

I can only think of one place where I could have ever changed my fortune. When the friendly scientist approached me to be part of his study on near-death experiments, I should have known better. I should have said no. I shouldn’t have been so gullible. So greedy. Other than that, what else could I have done? I’ve tried so hard.

This game isn’t working. I was dealt a bad hand from the start, and no amount of reshuffling will fix it. I’m destined to lose no matter what.

I have to find a new game to play.

I have to change the rules.


	17. Totem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homer remembers a game, and another visitor arrives to restore his hope.

_“Up.”_

_I raise my hand up slightly._

_“Nope. Higher.”_

_I raise it more._

_“Higher. Stop. Little to the right. Okay. Now, take a step back.”_  
  
_“I can’t,” I say, irritated. My eyes are squeezed shut, but I can already feel the edge of the cot bumping against the back of my calves from where I’ve been told to move._

 _“Pick your damn leg up,” Scott says patiently, as though he’s speaking to a disobedient toddler. “And put it on your bed.”_  
  
_“That’s not allowed,” OA cuts in immediately. “Are we allowing that, ref?”_

_“There’s no rule against it,” Rachel decides._

_“What?” OA shouts. I have to bite my lip, because I know that if I laugh now, I may not have a girlfriend by the time I get to open my eyes, but at the same time, the sound of her indignant petulance is really kind of cute right now._

_“She’s right,” Renata points out._

_“That’s not fair,” OA protests. “I would have had him climb up on the bed back in round seven when we had that first tiebreaker, and then I would have won by now.”  
_

_“Yeah, well, you didn’t, did you?” Scott crows. “You want it so bad, build yourself a time machine. Now get up there, Homer.” My eyes stay squeezed shut as I carefully step behind me and find my footing on the bed. “Both feet.”_

_My arm is still stretched out stiff, holding the small ball of lint I collected from my sock, which is the thing that everyone’s attention has been focused on all week. I can’t see what’s beneath it, but I know it’s the five by five grid of twenty-five squares that I created a few days earlier by carefully making rows of soil on the rock. All week long, the others have been choosing squares and scoring points based on where the lint falls when they tell me to drop it, and it’s come down to Scott versus OA for the finals._

_“Now to the right,” Scott says. “Little more. Yep. Right there. Okay. Ready, and… drop!”_

_I release the lint ball from my fingers. It drifts quickly to the floor as I open my eyes. Renata buries her face in her hands and screams, unable to look, OA presses her face against the glass, and Scott raises his fists in anticipation, chanting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Rachel, like me, is focused with laser-like precision on where the lint is headed._

_“No!” OA screams, and Scott sighs loudly as the lint settles onto one of Renata’s squares._

_“Hey!” Renata says, brightening up. “Now I’m only seventy-three points behind.”_

_Rachel makes a notation with a stick on the scoreboard she’s been keeping on her floor. “Congrats.”_

_“Next round,” Scott barks impatiently. “Let’s go.” I pick up the lint and return to my starting position and close my eyes._

_“Make him go forward,” OA pleads._

_“Knock it off. I’m going for the middle,” Renata says. “Calm down, woman. No one’s picking sides. Not him, and not me.”_

_“Just get on with it,” Scott grumbles._

_“Okay,” Renata says. “Homer, little more to the right. Okay. Lower. There. Perfect. Ready, and, drop.”_

_I release the lint from my outstretched fingers and open my eyes as it drifts to the ground, then comes to rest directly on the line of soil between squares seven and eight. Right on the border between Scott’s point and OA’s point._

_Screams break out from every corner of the cage. “Wait! Wait!” I shout over the din. “Hold on.” I climb down onto my knees and press my face to the ground, studying the board from one angle. The lint isn’t quite centered on the soil, though it’s difficult to tell. OA cranes her neck to see. I climb back up to my knees and scoot around to look from the opposite angle. “Guys. I don’t think it’s a draw.”  
_

_“Who is it?” Scott demands, raising up on his toes, as if that’s going to help him see better. I pull myself back up and crawl to look from a third angle to make sure what I’m seeing is accurate. “Who is it?” he shouts again, louder._

_I stand and take a deep breath. “Point goes to Scott.”  
_

_“No!” OA screams, clenching her fists, as Scott whoops and hollers and leaps back up onto his cot to celebrate._

_“Lintball champion!” he screams._

_“How is that not a tie?” OA protests._

_“Sorry, it looks like Scott to me, too,” Rachel offers, crouching down to try to see it from a better angle._

_“It’s not fair!” OA continues. “Replay with the bed rule in play.”_  
  
_“For the next tournament, sure,” Scott says. “But for this one, sucks to be you and lose, don’t it?” He flails his arms backward with giant windmills. “Victory!” he crows._

_I can’t stop laughing at this chaos, especially at the sight of Scott acting like he’s just won the Super Bowl. I step up onto my bed as well, moving to the wall, to reassure OA. “I have to be neutral. I’m sorry, babe.”  
_

_“You suck,” she says icily. “I hate lintball.” I drop down into a crouch. I can’t even catch my breath from laughing so hard. “The rest of us can’t see the line,” OA continues. “I think that calls for a replay. This is bullshit.” But even as she says it, she’s dropping her straight face and starting to smile with the rest of us._

_Are we going to hell for laughing in a place like this? For finding companionship? For keeping each other sane? Is this really sane? Dropping lint on a dirt pile and screaming at each other about it, for days on end? For better or for worse, this might be the sanest I’ve felt in weeks. Months. Maybe years._

_“Look again,” she commands me, and I rise to my feet, but as I do, the door at the top of the stairs sounds with a click, and all of our laughter immediately subsides._

_I press my back against the wall and try to look cool, in spite of the fact that I’m standing up on my cot hovering over a grid of dirt. I stare down at my socks. I can’t even look at Hap right now._

_“Good morning,” he says as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, looking at us all suspiciously._

_Scott coughs, but no one says anything._

_“I’ll let you get back to your fun, don’t worry,” Hap says crisply. “Just cleaning equipment today.”_

_There. He’s not taking anyone today. I exhale. For tomorrow, there are no guarantees, but for today, I don’t have to watch any of my friends follow him to their deaths in terror. Today, I don’t have to take another final breath. Today, I don’t have to wait for grim, endless hours, only to find out that we’ve failed one more time. I just have to wait for him to disappear, and then we can play more lintball. Today is a good day._

_“Hap rule,” Rachel mumbles under her breath._

_I had almost forgotten. We set a rule from the beginning that if Hap came down on a turn you won, it meant an extra ten points, but no one has invoked it until now, and the fact that she just did it right to his face causes me to lose it once and for all. I release a giant, uncontrollable guffaw, and everyone else starts to break out in carefully controlled bursts of snorting and sniffing._

_“Did I miss something?” Hap asks impatiently._

_“Nope,” Renata says. “Rachel has just lost the plot.”_

_“But I won the title by eleven points,” Scott blurts out._

_For some reason, that’s even funnier. I raise my fist to my mouth to cover my expression and turn to the wall, trying to hide my face from Hap, but this just means OA can see what I’m doing and she dissolves into giggles, too._

_“Fine,” Hap says, clearly annoyed. “Carry on, then.”  
_

_As he starts for the tunnel to the lab, I step to the edge of the bed, still laughing, but suddenly my sock gets caught on the blanket, and my weight isn’t where I expect it to be, and the lintball game board is rushing up toward me, hard and fast. My body collides with the stone and soil in a violent, painful rush._

_If a lifetime of football followed by another lifetime of human experimentation has taught me anything, it’s not to cry out when I’m in pain. My ankle is strangely numb and the breath has been knocked out of me, but I pull it all inward, hard and silent. I can’t show weakness. Not in front of Hap. I hear the gasps of the others behind the stars that are appearing in front of my eyes._

_“Homer, are you okay?” OA whispers, concerned._

_“No,” I gasp, finally able to find my voice. “Fuck.”  
_

_“Call Hap back here,” she says gently. “Let him look at you.”  
_

_“No,” I say again, firmer this time._

_“He’s a doctor.”  
_

_“He’s a psycho torturer,” Scott mutters._

_I hear footsteps. For some reason, Hap hasn’t gone down the tunnel to the laboratory. He must have heard our voices. “What happened?”_  
  
_“Nothing,” I say, trying to keep my voice normal, even though the shock is already wearing off and pain is starting to radiate from my ankle. I try to roll it around. It feels funny._

_“Tell him,” OA says firmly._

_“No,” I hiss again from the floor. “It’s fine.”  
_

_“Homer?” Hap asks, his voice sharp and brusque._

_I shake my head and wince as he walks to my cage and studies the scene._

_“Are you hurt?”  
_

_“He fell,” Scott offers. “Think he hurt his ankle.”_

_“Sellout,” I manage to say, irritated._

_“Well, fuck me for wanting someone with a medical degree to check on you,” Scott retorts._

_Hap ignores us both. He unlocks my cage. I look up as he enters. He moves with extreme caution. He doesn’t take his eyes off me. He’s braced for any sudden movements from me. He never likes coming into my cell with me when I’m conscious. I know he’s afraid of me. I know he’s wondering if I could be faking. He doesn’t come very close._

_“Can you get up?” he asks quietly. I pull myself to a sitting position then slowly rise to my feet. I wince again as I try to put weight on the ankle, then pull myself up all the way and hop over to my cot. He waits by the door._

_“Hold your foot out,” he commands, and at this point I don’t have much of an option, so I stretch out my leg and he gets just close enough to crouch down and balance it on his knee. He removes my sock and drops it to the side. His touch on my bare foot makes me shiver. He pretends not to notice and presses gently on my ankle. “Can you point your toes?” I grudgingly obey his command. “Flex. Can you move it from side to side? Okay.” He frowns at my weak attempt and places my foot on the ground, then backs away carefully as he stands._

_“I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s probably going to swell up on you. You know the drill for sprains, right?”_

_“Yes, sir.”  
_

_“Repeat it back to me, then, please.”_

_“Rest, ice, compress, elevate,” I say, grudgingly._

_He nods his curt approval. “I have ice and bandages upstairs. I’ll be right back. Don’t get up too quickly.” He exits my cell as quickly as he can and I close my eyes, finally letting myself feel the pain explode throughout my body._

_I wait until the door at the top of the stairs closes. “I hate you all.”  
_

_“You’re lucky you have good friends, Homer, or else you’d probably be maimed for life,” Renata offers helpfully._

_“You really think it’s sprained?” OA asks, concerned, pressing her face to the glass to try to see better._

_“Yeah. He’s probably right.” I’ve sprained my ankle before. I struggle to sit up, extending my leg so I can see the ankle better. “It doesn’t feel broken.” I carefully wiggle my toes. I can feel the pain now, centered on the side of my ankle.  
_

_“So,” Rachel says slowly. “Homer. How does it feel knowing that you’re the first-ever injury in the history of lintball?”  
_

_For a long moment, there’s dead silence. Then we all erupt in laughter again. This time, my eyes tear up, I’m laughing so hard._

_I’m laughing through the pain. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it makes me forget about it, just long enough to keep me sane._

_There was a long time when I thought I would never be able to laugh here. Maybe I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t have survived so long without this. Without laughter. Without happiness. Without my family. Without my tribe._

_It would have been unbearable._

_*_

It’s unbearable without anyone else here.

The brig is so quiet. Too quiet. Jeremy doesn’t come back the next day. Or the next.

With every passing day, it’s increasingly clear that he may not come back for a long time. Part of me is grateful that he seems to have finally given up on me, but there’s a part of me that’s anxious, too.

I don’t do well as a lone wolf. I need a pack. I need _my_ pack. Without them, I feel unsettled, nervous, fretful. I manage to figure out a way to do most of my morning class routine with the handcuffs on, but it’s still painfully lonely here. I play cards and I eat and I piss and I shit and I jerk off and I lie on the floor for hours, thinking and remembering. All in silence. All alone.

So when I finally hear a familiar sound at my door, my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

“Hey, man.”

I break into the biggest, most idiotic grin of my life once I realize it’s him. Maybe I’m losing my mind, maybe I’m imagining him, but I’m willing to go along with insanity for a brief chance at companionship, even if it’s Scott.

I clamber to my feet quickly, kicking the playing cards aside, and hurry to the door, pressing my hands desperately against the bars. His fingers touch mine back in greeting and I immediately feel calmer. Neither one of us has to say out loud why we need to touch right now. He understands.

“How’d you-?”

He drops his fingers and jerks his head, motioning to the side, and I angle myself so I can see Betts standing there, watching him. I get it. We have to watch what we say. That’s okay. It’s better than nothing.

“Brought you somethin’.” He pushes something against the door. I lean down to pull the dish through. It’s covered with hot empanadas. I look back up at him. “Renata made ‘em. They’re fresh. Chicken-”

After days of nothing but the bland canteen food, I don’t even care what kind they are. I grab for one and shovel it into my mouth. The taste explodes, spicy and hot and juicy, before melting into my tongue and sliding happily down my throat. It tastes like something other than an institution. It tastes like a home. It tastes like Renata. It tastes like a family.

“I been tryin’ to get down here for days,” he whispers to me as I continue to devour empanadas. “Rachel couldn’t do it, she’s gotta be there for her brother-“

I swallow a mouthful of empanada. “She’s okay?” I press urgently, and he nods.

“Oh yeah, yeah, she’s fine. She’s gotta be careful, but she’s good. And Renata, she woulda done it, but we didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble.” Miguel. “So, I went on a hunger strike-“

“You what?” I gasp, nearly choking on empanada.

He nods, enjoying my shock. “Told ‘em they could go pound sand, cause I was willing to starve to death if they didn’t move you outta here.” He frowns and furrows his brow. “I think they were okay with that, though.”

I raise my own eyebrows, but say nothing.

“Then I tried to get you a trip outta here, and told ‘em I wanted my weekly outing to be with you. But, they weren’t gonna fly with that, neither.”

I swallow, processing this and what it means for me. I glance around at the cold walls.

“Finally I realized they might swing for lettin’ me at least come down here to see you, so I decided it was better than nothin’.” He shrugs apologetically. “Figured you probably needed it.”

“You figured right,” I say reluctantly, putting the plate aside to save some for later, especially since my stomach is starting to hurt from the sudden influx of real food. It’s so good. “Thanks, man. You know Eli has the disk now.”

He nods. He doesn't seem to care. “How ya doin’, guy? You okay?” Scott asks in an unusually soft tone, turning back to me. His eyes flit to my wrists and then back up to my face, concerned. He knows. I’m not. I’m not okay.

I shake my head, feeling helpless. I don’t want to lie to him, but I don’t want to tell him the whole truth, either. I don’t want his pity.

“Scott,” I say in a rush. “I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to break our vow. You have to tell the others. Please.”

“It’s fine,” he says gently. “You didn’t-“

I can’t handle his sympathy right now. “No, it’s not-“

“That’s the last thing we’re worried about now-“

“There's no excuse.” I shake my head. “You guys are all I have left, and I fucked it up.”

“Enough with the fuckin’ vow. Okay? You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

“I did. I ruined everything-”

“It was us. We were the ones who let you down,” Scott says fiercely. Our eyes meet, and I know he’s serious. I swallow.

“You didn’t,” I say. “You did everything you could. I saw.”

“Yeah, well, so did you.”

“They took my hat, Scott,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes again. “I know, it’s silly, it’s just a hat, but-" 

“Fuckin’ bastards.” He shakes his head. “What the hell they gonna do with a hat?”

I shrug. “Torment me, I guess. Somehow they knew it was the only thing I had worth caring about, and they couldn’t even let me have that.”

“Why?” he asks in disbelief.

I shrug miserably. “Guess cause someone made Jeremy lose his shit.”

He snorts. “Seriously?” He squints at me, the question on his face.

I raise a hand. “Guilty.”

“Dude! I woulda paid money to see that.”

“It wasn’t fun,” I sigh. “And you don’t have money."

He quickly sobers. “Sorry, man.”

“Why couldn’t I just cooperate with him?” I burst out. “Why can’t I just go along with it? Why can’t I lay low and play their game? Everything would be so much easier.”

“Cause you’re _you_ , dipshit.” I wrinkle my nose at him. I’m not sure what that’s even supposed to mean.

“I wish I knew how to do what you do, Scott.” I stare down at the floor. “Figure out how to make this work for me. Appreciate what I got. Learn to live with it.”

“You serious?” Scott asks me, astonished. “Naw, man. Naw. No way. I wish I knew how to do what you do.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask sharply. “Get yourself chained up in the brig?”

“Take a stand.” He looks at me intensely. “I can’t. Same reason I couldn’t pull off a hunger strike. Same reason that cocksucker wanted you at his side, and not me. It’s cause I’m weak. I always have been.”

“You’re not weak, Scott. You’re not.”

“Come on,” he scoffs.

“No. I know you too well.” I look out past him, into the hallway. “You have a different kind of strength. The kind that’s too proud to ask for help when you need it. The kind that’s always there for the rest of us when we need it anyway.” I look back up at him. “Know what you are? You’re a survivor.”

“And you’re a fighter,” he says, looking back at me. “You always will be.” 

“Me?” I ask. “You’re the one threatening hunger strikes.”

“Unsuccessfully.” He sighs.

“It got you down here, didn’t it?” I point out.

“I told you, I was tryin’ to get you out of here.”

“And you figured out pretty quickly that wasn’t happening, and found another thing to fight for. And you made it down here anyway.” I shrug. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was starting to rub off on you.”

“Huh.” He smiles. “Guess we’re both learning from each other after all this time.”

“Yeah.” I have to smile back at him.

“Look. I’m gonna keep survivin’, so you keep fightin’ for us. You got that?”

“Yeah, man. Yeah.” I lick my lips. “Maybe we need both of us to get through this together.”

“Maybe,” Scott admits. “You keep up the fight for us, and I’ll take care of the girls.”

I burst out laughing. “Bullshit,” I say. “They’re taking care of you, and we both know it.”

“Well,” Scott says, “least I can say my ass contributes to the cooking.”

“If I ever get out of here,” I say, “I will make you the best boxed spaghetti.”

“Nope. Not interested.”

That reminds me. “Renata,” I continue. “There’s some stuff under my bed I want her to have, can you tell her for me?”

“Of course… Oh! Thanks for reminding me, I got something else for you. Rachel asked me to give you this.” He reaches into his back pocket and draws out her Bible, passing it through the food slot.

“What?” I ask, stunned. “Why-?”

“She said you’d know what it meant.” I shake my head, feeling lost as I take the Bible in my hand. “She misses you real bad, of course. But she’s strong.”

“Her brother?”

“She talked to her parents the other night. They got a lot of questions, but she’s working on it.”

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

“She deserves this,” I say softly. “She makes miracles.” I don’t know what else I can say with Betts standing there.

“She’s somethin’ else,” he agrees, shaking his head and looking away, a hint of a smile on his face.

I feel bold all of a sudden. “You really love her.”

“Homer…”

“You need to tell her that. That you love her.”

He shakes his head, looking away for a few seconds. “Man,” he finally says, looking back at me. “You are such a dick.”

“Who? Me?”

“Why you gotta get involved?”

“Scott.”

“What if I tell her that and get shot down?”

“Would I set you up?”

“I dunno what to think! I never been in this situation before.”

I have to smile. He’s hopeless, and yet somehow, he gives me so much hope about our world at the same time.

“Just say it, all right? Jesus. I wouldn’t fuck with you like that. Look. You and me and the girls, if there’s one thing we should have learned, it’s that we never know how much time we have, or what fortune’s gonna do to us next. You gotta take every moment you can. Every single good second. Don’t spend another day without telling her how you feel. Do it for me. Please. You won’t regret it.”

He squints at me. “You know somethin’ I don’t?”

“I know nothing,” I say with a laugh. “But I’m also not blind. Though, I used to know a blind person, and I think even she could probably see what’s happening if she were here.”

He shakes his head and looks away. “Wanna know somethin’ real fucked up?”

“Try me.”

“I started thinkin’ the other day that this could be the best I ever had it.” He looks at me, perplexed. “I’m the healthiest I been in a real long time. I don’t even think about using no more.” He starts to laugh. “I don’t know how to explain it, but somehow, you cured that, too - I mean, what the fuck?”

“Plus, you got your bathtub and cable TV.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still wanna get out of here someday, and I want you back with us, but…”

“You’re gonna be okay,” I finish softly. I know it’s probably a lie, but it’s easy enough to believe.

Scott and Rachel have each other now. Soon, they’ll have her brother to take care of. Renata has Miguel, and maybe, just _maybe_ , there’s enough humanity in him. Maybe one day he’ll figure out the right thing to do, and break out of this delusion that what’s happening here is okay. Maybe he’ll help her, maybe he’ll help all of them. Maybe they’ll all be okay together here, even if he doesn’t help.

“You’re gonna survive,” I continue. “All of you are.” I need to believe that. I need Scott to believe that, too.

“Okay,” he says, leaning in closer, his voice low and intense. “But so are you. All right? And you’re gonna fight. Somehow. You’ll find your way back to where you need to be. Hell, I think you're closer than you know.”

I squint at him. “I don’t know if I believe that.”

“You have to,” he whispers. 

“Scott,” I say as quietly as I can, conscious of Betts standing a few feet away. “I can’t do this much longer. I can’t keep fighting. I don’t have it left in me.”

“Stop that,” he hisses. “Don’t-“

“They aren’t going to let me out of here. We both know it. They’re scared of me. And _she’s_ in trouble out there,” I add. “I don’t know what kind, but she needs help.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, not pressing me on how I know.

“I fucked up. It’s over. They got the disk back, and I’m still going to be stuck like this, and nothing is changing. I got nothing left.”

“You still got us,” he says urgently. “And her.”

“Yeah. Someday,” I scoff. “I’m sick of someday, Scott. I can’t wait for someday any more.”

“I know,” he says soothingly. “But remember, you already figured out how to do the impossible.” He puts his fingers back up to the window and I reach up to touch him again. “Figurin’ Out The Impossible: The Story of My Life. By Homer Roberts.”

I try to return his gentle smile. “Dedicated to Scott Brown.”

He shakes his head, embarrassed. “Whatever. Look.” He drops his voice to a whisper so we can’t be hard. “Listen to what Rachel’s sayin’.”

I glance down at the book in my hand. “Wait, you know what her message is?”

He raises his eyebrows at me but says nothing. He’s not going to tell me in front of Betts. I have to figure it out for myself.

“Okay. Well, thanks, man.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without-“

“Stop,” he says again. “You’re gonna be okay. I know you are, cause I know you.”

“You know me better than almost anyone,” I agree quietly.

“And I ain’t killed you yet.”

“Not that you haven’t tried.” I take a deep breath. “But it’s never been this hard. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do from here. I don’t know how to find a way out of this anymore.”

“You’ll find another way,” he says again. “You know how I know?”

“Cause we always do.” I stare down at the Bible in my hand. If Scott believes it this much, Scott the skeptic, Scott the doubter, Scott the cynic, maybe I can believe it, too. “I’d have never hit you, you know.”

“What?” he asks in surprise.

“That time you decked me, when I told you not to do it again. Remember? Truth is I couldn’t lay a hand on you. Not ever. Not after everything we’ve been through together.” I look him in the eye, thinking back to our conversation that morning. “And I’m glad you were the one I got stuck with.” He starts to shake his head but I cut him off. “It’s true. You know how hard that is for me to say, but-”

“Stop being such a douche,” he says, rolling his eyes.

I see Betts shifting impatiently outside the cell. I don’t want Scott to leave, but there’s not much else to say, and we can’t keep this going forever. I lean my head against the bars and close my eyes, trying to memorize what it feels like to have a true friend here, so that I can preserve the feeling after he’s gone. I don’t want him to leave, because I don’t know when I’m going to see him again, but I don’t know what else there is to say to him.

“Ready?” Betts finally asks, though we all know that neither of us is.

Scott finally drops his hand and takes a step back. We’re not good at goodbyes, mostly because we haven’t had very many of them.

“So,” he says, and coughs. 

I shake my head. “Don’t.”

“’Kay,” he says. He turns, reluctantly, and walks away. I press my face closer to the bars watching him go, then finally drop my hands from the window. I sit there a moment, listening to the disappearing sound of their footsteps, before I pick up the plate of empanadas and return to the grim loneliness of my bunk to nibble on them slowly.

Rachel’s Bible. What is she trying to tell me? What is it that Scott isn’t saying?

I know how much this little book with its tiny print meant to her. Rachel and I always shared a bond because we both grew up in Christian churches, even though we were from different denominations, and it all felt so far away after we were kidnapped. Sometimes, especially in the early years, she used to read out loud from this very Bible at night, and we would pray together before we went to bed.

After awhile, we stopped, because it didn’t seem to help. It was so much harder to believe in anything after everything we’d been through.

That’s not what matters. The important part is that I know she also has years and dates and notes of evidence scrawled inside. Why couldn’t she have tried to send this to OA? Why does she want me to have it?

_“She said you’d know what it meant.”_

I realize, with a sudden combination of elation and dread, exactly what she meant.

The Bible is a message. For me. But more importantly, for others.

Just like the disk, it’s proof. It’s a different kind of proof, sure, but it’s still proof. It’s evidence, a record of what we went through. It’s way to call for help, a way to prove I’m not crazy.

I know what Rachel is saying. She’s telling me that they’re all going to stay here for now. That they’re going to be okay. That they’re going to cooperate, for now at least, and be okay. But if I can’t be there with them, they still want me to keep fighting to find a way out, and figure out some way to blow the lid off this joint and end it once and for all.

Because Rachel’s Bible – full of her notes from years of captivity - can help me do it.

“I know, Rachel,” I whisper out loud. “I’ll try. I promise.” 

I open the cover, and a folded piece of paper falls out. I unfold it in my hand. I know what it is even before I finish opening it.

I smooth the paper out on my mattress and stare at it. 

OA gazes back at me.

It’s a stunning rendering, vibrant and dynamic. A different kind of totem. Something to remind me she’s real. I can tell that Rachel spent a lot of time on it. Her memory and her pen strokes captured everything in just the right way. This is how I remember the girl from the other side of my cage. She’s confident. Smiling and warm. Wise and knowing. Brave and beautiful. Everything I love about her is in this picture.

Everything except for her.

Scott said he believes in me, but that’s not true. I know that what he really believes in is her. She’s what we all believed in.

I rest my thumb against the chain still binding my wrists together. How do I do this without her, and without the others? What do I have left when I’m alone? How am I supposed to be the one to finally get out of here, when I’m more locked down than I’ve ever been? How do I do what Rachel is asking me to do and go get help for everyone else? How can I do any of this by myself?

“Figuring out the impossible,” I whisper to the picture in front of me. “How did you do it?”

But the paper is silent, and her mysterious smile doesn’t have an answer for me.


	18. To the Shores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final visitor helps to seal Homer’s fate, and Homer finds something he thought he’d lost forever.

I lurch awake from my late morning nap with a start.

Something startled me in my sleep. A loud crack. An explosion of some kind. Almost like it was inside my head. I look down at my chest, but all I see is the front of my t-shirt beneath my shaking, chained hands, tucked close to my body.

Something is wrong. I don’t know what it is. My entire body is on edge, anxiety racing through me.

I reach beside me to check that my totems are still where I left them when I fell asleep. Rachel’s Bible, the drawing of OA inside it, my football. The things that remind me of who I am, who’s waiting for me, who needs me, and what I have left to do.

I can’t go back to sleep, but I don’t want to get out of bed, either. I don’t want to face another long afternoon here all alone. Especially not when I know something’s wrong. I can feel it. I know it. I don’t know what it is, I only know that I can’t do anything about it. Not from here.

One more day in solitary. One more night trying to figure out how to do the impossible. No way of knowing what’s gone wrong, no way to figure out what it is that I don’t know, what it is that I _should_ know.

“Miguel?” I call out, hopeful. Someone approaches the door and I sit up, then scowl when I see it’s just Lou.

“What do you want?” he barks.

“Never mind,” I sigh. “When’s lunch coming?”

“You missed it.”

I sit up and glance at the ground. “Where’s my food then?”

“Where do you think?”

“Seriously?” Like he needs to get any fatter.

“Next time, you might wanna be awake when your food comes.”

I heave a sigh and climb to my feet. This only happens when Lou’s on duty. I should consider myself lucky they’re giving me real food at all, I guess.

I can feel hunger gnawing at me, but it doesn’t stop me from stretching out and launching into my daily exercise routine. I need something to distract me from the growing sense that something is wrong. The anxiety plus the hunger is not a good combination. I know that there will be a change of guards within a couple of hours, and if Lou’s on duty now, most likely Betts will be next. He’s not Miguel, but he’s at least likely to try to get me some crackers or something before dinnertime if I beg hard enough.

I give up halfway through my routine. The dread is overwhelming me. Instead, I pick up Rachel’s Bible and carry it over to Scott’s bunk. I sit on it, cross-legged, and turn to The Song of Songs. I’ve read it so many times over the last few days, whispering the words out loud to her as if she was here, that the small book falls open to it almost automatically.

I start from the beginning again. My mouth moves silently over the words, the dance between the lovers, the gentle metaphors of love and longing and desire. Then I stop and close the book. I can’t read this now. I lean my head back and close my eyes.

This thing, whatever it is, is still gnawing at me, deep down. Something is wrong. I know it. Something I can’t touch. Every thought of her is mixed with dread. I’ve never felt that way before. I don’t know what that means.

I hear footsteps, and I know right away from the stale, unpleasant smell that it’s _him._  

“Go away,” I say without opening my eyes.

“You might want to listen to what I have to say first.”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say, we established that a long time ago.”

“Does it always have to be like this, Homer?” Hap asks, with a heavy sigh. “Some epic struggle? Both of us always at each other’s throats?”

“Depends,” I say evenly. “Are you going to set me free?”

“We’ll see,” he says. At that, I open my eyes and straighten up. That’s not the answer I expected to my sarcastic crack. Hap looks different. Upset. Unnerved somehow. I’ve only seen him like this a couple of other times. It never ended well for us. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, suspicious.

“It’s about Prairie,” he says.

I steel myself at the mention of her name from his lips. The feeling of dread intensifies. “What about her?”

“Do you even understand what’s been happening here?” he demands. “I set her free. I sent her away from this. I gave her what all of you want, and I’ve been doing everything I can to keep her that way. Your stunt with the disk?” He shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to protect her, and you just keep dragging her back into this, you little shit.”

“You’re the one who dragged her into this in-“ I start to say, but he cuts me off.

“Do you want to know why I really called the agency in?” Hap asks.

I do, and yet, I don’t. I lean forward and stare intensely at my Skechers. “Why?” I mumble.

“Because what I’ve already done is bad enough.”

Now I look up at him, feeling more confused than ever. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Because I could have killed you then, Homer.” I open my mouth to point out that he has, he’s killed me plenty of times, but he cuts me off. “Permanently.” My mouth closes and I swallow. “Because I wanted to. I thought I would kill you if you didn’t kill me first. But you’re too valuable. I knew that. I knew that if I lost you, it would end the work. And my work is more important than anything you could ever provoke out of me. No matter how set you were on destroying everything. So I spared you. Again and again, I spared you.”

I stare at him. None of this makes any sense. “You wanted to kill me.”

“No, I didn’t-”

“You did. Here. I heard you. Through the wall.”

“You heard that?” he asks in surprise.

“Try spending a few years in a basement sometime,” I snap. “It’s amazing what it does for your senses.”

A look of realization crosses his face. “Maybe you misunderstood. We did talk about ending your participation in the experiment. I should have chosen better words. I didn’t know you were listening.”

I shake my head, trying to process all of this. “What about what you said to me during the experiment?”

“That was to get your head in the right – Look. I’m sorry for that, Homer. I truly am…” He’s never apologized to me before. What’s going on? But I press on.

“You’ve lost subjects in this work before-”

“You know I never killed any subjects deliberately.”

“That doesn’t make you a hero.”

“No. But it also doesn’t make me the person you think I am.”

I’m not sure it’s worth arguing with him. Instead, I fix him with a stare. Our eyes meet for the first time in a long time. I realize that it’s possible that I don’t know this man at all.  “Only one of us is a killer, Hap.”

“But both of us are liars, aren’t we, Homer?”

I swallow, hard. “You pointed a weapon at me,” I remind him quietly. “You were ready to shoot me, if Prairie didn’t do what you said.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” he says again. “Only the people who endangered my work.”

I eye the door warily. I’m not sure that the distinction matters much to me. “How ‘bout now?”

“Right now, I need you alive now more than ever. But-”

“You sent her away,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t want to,” he says impatiently. “You didn’t leave me any choice.”

“Fuck you, Hap.”

“She couldn’t stay. You know that. It wouldn’t have been good for any of us.”

“You don’t know the first thing about what’s good for me, or for her.”

“I know you’re not good for her!” he snaps. “After what you did? The way she came crawling back to you was pathetic.”

I grit my teeth. “That’s not how it happened, and you know that,” I hiss.

He takes a deep breath, backing off at my expression. “Look. All of that is beside the point now. You’re not listening to me. Something else has happened. She’s been shot.”

My world focuses into a single point. Now, I understand. The feelings I’ve been having all day. My connection to her. I fall still and alert, waiting for more. She’s hurt. She needs me. I need her.

“She’s alive…?” I ask. I’m surprised by how calm my voice sounds, because I don’t feel that way inside.

“For now,” he says quietly. “Maybe not for much longer.”

“Was Eli-?” I can’t finish the thought.

He shakes his head. “As far as I can tell, it had nothing to do with any of this. It was random. Jeremy thinks that we should let it play out. That it’s too much of a risk for any of us to go to her now.”

I study him. I look at his face. Maybe I don’t know Hap at all, but I do know that look. “You don’t agree.”

“Jeremy doesn’t understand everything.”

“You and I can help her, together,” I say slowly, barely believing the words as they tumble out of my mouth.

“Can we?” he asks.

Our eyes meet, and for the first time, in spite of my hatred for this man, I see that for all his misguided affection and cruelty, maybe there’s still some humanity left, just a little bit, even in him. But it’s still tied to her. Once she’s gone, maybe his humanity is, too.

He’s not ready to give that up yet. He thought he was ready to give her up, and I’ve suffered for that decision – _God, I’ve suffered_ \- but now he’s come to realize it was never true.

He can’t exist without her in this world. Neither of us can. He studies me, still waiting to hear his fate.

Can I bring myself to go with him? To leave the others and take the risk that I may never see them again?

I think about Scott, his silent sobs subsiding into darkness the night that I took his hand into mine and told him he wasn’t alone. I think about Rachel, gently stroking her fingers through my hair, snuggling into my side to silence me, saying so much to me without words. I think about Renata, my sin and my salvation, writhing above me, performing absolution on me, delivering me to grace.

They kept me strong when I needed them, and now they need me. They need me to leave. They need me to go to her and save her, for all of us. That’s what Rachel was trying to tell me when she sent her Bible to me. I have to go. It’s okay. It’s time.

I’m not breaking my vow, I’m trying to fulfill it. I’m trying to bring us back all together.

The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s the only way. It’s the only answer to every question I’ve been struggling with all along. I _have_ to go with Hap. That’s the only way to save OA and save the others. I have to get out of this cell. I have to get out of this building.

I’ve been playing with a bum hand of cards from the start. I have to turn everything upside down and reshuffle the deck. I have to change the rules. This is where I do it. It’s the only way to give our tribe a chance.

“Yes,” I say softly. “We can." 

He opens the door and Betts approaches me, unlocking the handcuffs. I hadn’t realized he was there. So that’s two of them with some humanity left. I click the cuffs closed and toss them on my bunk. 

“He coming, too?” I ask, hoisting a thumb at Betts. I stretch my arms out. It feels so good to be able to move.

Betts shakes his head. 

“Good,” I say. “Go help Miguel look out for Renata.” I have so many questions about why Betts is helping Hap, who he really is, what made him do the right thing, but they aren’t important.

“I don’t understand,” Betts says quietly, shaking his head at me as I windmill my arms to stretch them out. “You’re running away from this place, where they tried to give you every kind of freedom they could think of, back to the guy who kept you in a cage.”

“Yeah,” I say, dropping my arms. I glance back at Hap. “Guess he’s the only person offering me what I really want.” I turn to Hap. “So are we going, or what?”

“Not out the front door,” he says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they have cameras here.”

“No kidding,” I say. He’s really doing it. Hap is really breaking me out of the brig to take me to OA. My heart is pounding as I start to process this new reality.

“Follow me.”

I grab the football and Rachel’s Bible – I can’t leave them here - and do what he says.

Betts heads off in the opposite direction. Hap leads me up a floor, then into a storage closet. He reaches through the ceiling, pushing a tile aside, and gropes around for a minute before shaking his head. “We can’t go that way.” He turns around, thinking for a moment. “This way.”

I hear footsteps coming from the opposite direction and I freeze in terror. It’s a moment before Hap hears them, too. He grabs for the nearest door and shoves me through it before slamming it on me. I look around and realize I’m back in the conference room.

I can hear Hap murmuring pleasantries to someone in the hall, trying to keep them from coming in. I creep over to the counter, where Mickey the zombie mouse stares at me from his cage, whiskers twitching, almost forgotten.

On a whim, I lift the top of his cage and scoop the tiny critter out with my free hand. He squeaks in alarm and I raise him up to look him in the eye.

“Hey, little fella,” I say to him quietly. “Look. I know I did you one favor already, but it wasn’t much of one, and you and I both know it. Now, you owe me. All right?” He stares at me. “Go make lots of little mouse babies that shit all over these fucking offices. For me. For both of us.”

His whiskers quiver back at me. I set him down on the floor and smile as he scampers for the radiator in the corner.

“Later, Mickey,” I whisper.

Hap opens the door. “You ready?”

Somewhere out there, OA needs me. I’m ready.

I tuck the Bible into the pocket of my hoodie and hold the football tight under my arm, anxiously. We descend deeper into the basement, into the tunnels. He moves quickly. I can barely keep up with him. My body still isn’t used to ambulating this fast, and it’s all his fault, but I don’t see any need to point that out right now. Not when he’s taking me to her.

I realize as we hurry along together that he’s a liar. He just told me that himself, but I’ve always known it. And he’s right about me. I’m a liar, too.

I’ve lied to him plenty over the years. I had to, to protect myself and investigate the experiment and try to find a way out.

He lied to me from the beginning. He hunted me down and told me he wanted me to partake in a simple experiment, and then he turned around and ripped my entire life away from me. We’ve never trusted each other, not for a second. We couldn’t.

Now, I have to trust him. I still don’t have a choice. I never do.

Maybe there’s no emergency. Maybe he’s not taking me to her. Maybe he’s taking me somewhere to do what Jeremy and Eli refused to do, and he’s going to kill me on his own. 

If he does, then I’ll just have to wait for her on the other side. Either way, I’m getting the ever-loving fuck out of this place.

He opens a door into the yard.  I recognize his sedan parked several yards away, surrounded by other staff vehicles. I search around, squinting in the late afternoon sunlight, looking for a camera or a guard.

“Don’t waste time, just move!” he snaps. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I put my head down and barrel across the yard, reaching for the passenger door. He stops me with a hand. “I don’t think so,” he says. He moves around to the trunk, opens it, and points inside.

I hesitate for a moment. I think about all the awful things Hap could do to me once he has me in his trunk. Send the car plunging into a lake, or over a cliff, or just leave me locked in there to starve to death. It would be so easy for him to kill me, and the agency would never know any better. Even Rachel and Scott and Renata might never be able to figure out where I went. My body would be lost forever. My father would never hear from me again. OA would wait for me forever, just like she waited for her own father-

“Come on!” he barks.

I take a deep breath. I can do this. I’ve walked calmly to my death with Hap many times before. This is no different. Either I’ll come back, or I won’t. I toss the football in, then climb into the open trunk, curling up, and try to calm myself as he closes the door on me.

I feel the engine start, and we start to bump down the road. My hand fumbles in the dark as I realize how much I need the football again. My hands close around it and I pull it tight against my body. I squeeze my eyes shut so that I can pretend that I’m not trapped in the darkness.

It’s less than ten minutes before the car stops. Are we far enough away yet for him to kill me? The trunk opens, flooding me with light and air and Hap and the awful, stale smell of his cigarettes. 

“Get in the front,” he says. “And buckle your seatbelt. We’re not getting a ticket because of your carelessness.”

I tuck the football in the corner of the trunk, hoping I’ll see it again. If not, it’ll be safe here, far away from the agency. No one will ever know what Rachel was able to do. No one will ever realize it turned up somewhere it should never have been in the first place.

As I climb out of the trunk, my eyes spot a rock a few feet away. It looks hefty. Small enough that I could probably pick it up quickly, but weighty enough that if I were to smash it into Hap’s skull, I could do some damage - at the very least, incapacitate him. Maybe I could even take his life, if I swung it hard enough.

I’m closer to it than he is. If I lunged for it now, he would never be able to stop me. In a matter of moments, I could have him at my mercy and fulfill so many fantasies I’ve had over the years.

He’s slipping, to let me get this close to a weapon. He’s panicking. He’s not thinking clearly. It’s because he’s distraught.

All he’s thinking about is saving her.

_No._

I can’t do it. Not now. Not when he wants to save her. Not when the two of us working together could be her only chance at survival. Not when she needs us. Both of us.

I turn away from the rock.

Instead, I scramble to climb into the front seat, complying with his order and clicking my seatbelt. I shrink away from him out of habit, leaning towards the window, trying to escape the overpowering smell of cigarette smoke that always follows him like a cloud.

“I don’t want any trouble out of you,” he says. “Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, sir,” I say quietly. He doesn’t know how close he just came to trouble. I’m not going to tell him.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“Do you ever regret anything?” I ask, shaking my head.

The question stuns him, to my surprise. There’s silence in the car for a few moments before he answers. “There’s… a lot I regret. Yes.”

“Like what?” I respond before I can catch myself.

“I’ve made mistakes. For one, I should never have given the project away.”

“Right,” I say with a bitter laugh. “You should have just kept us all locked in a cage, forever.”

“No,” he says slowly. “But I should never have let it go this far.” He licks his lips. “It wasn’t too long ago that someone tried to end my work. The prize - the truth - it’s too dangerous to have out there. They wanted to know what I’ve learned. They were willing to kill me for it. And I knew, in that moment, where I was facing death, that it meant the death of everything – the death of the work, your deaths. All of you. Permanently. And in that moment, do you know what I thought of?” He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “Did I think of the wonder of the science I’ve uncovered about what happens when we die? Did I think of the tragedy of losing all that work? Did I think of my own death and where I would go next? Did I think of the loss to the world if my science was destroyed at the hands of another? No. I thought about you. And her, and Rachel, and Scott and Renata. I thought about all of you dying, being carelessly tossed aside by him the way he’s tossed so many others aside, never to be revived again, and I thought-“ He shakes his head, unable to finish his sentence for a moment. “I had to save you all,” he finally says. “I had to kill him to save you.”

“The sheriff?” I ask, squinting at him. I’m trying to keep up with him, trying to understand what he’s telling me, but I can’t keep up.

“No.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“Kay.” I lean back in the seat, but I continue to watch him. He grips the wheel tightly. I can see a thousand different emotions crossing his face, none of them pausing long enough for me to understand.

“It’s going to get cold tonight, you know,” he says suddenly. I look down. I’m wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, the same ones I’ve been wearing for days, ever since the last time I was allowed to shower. “It’s not quite spring yet.”

“Oh,” I say softly.

“There’s a duffel bag in the seat behind you,” he says, tilting his chin up. “Reach around, see if you can grab it.”

I stare at him for a moment, then twist around in my seat. I manage to get a hand on the bag and pull it into the front with me, resting it on my lap.

“Open it up,” he says. “There’s something on the bottom you might need.”

I hesitate for only a few seconds before carefully unzipping the bag. I dig past the contents to the bottom and freeze for a moment as I see the corner of it. I recognize it right away. I look at him sharply. “Are you serious?”

“It’s yours,” he says with a shrug.

“You kept it this whole time?” I demand.

“I don’t like to throw things out.”

“Yeah, but why-?“ I stop myself. There’s no point in arguing with him. Instead, I pull the worn Pershing Football sweatshirt out of the duffel bag and smooth it out on my lap, staring at the wolf.

I remember trying it on for the first time in the college bookstore with my dad, grinning at him as he nodded his approval and told me it looked like my future was set. I remember pulling it as an afterthought on the morning that I headed to meet a stranger for a deal I thought would give me the tools to start being the father that I suddenly felt that I needed to be.  I remember washing it in the stream, day after day, year after year, drying it out by hanging it over my cot, burying myself in it on the coldest nights underground.

I didn’t expect to ever see it again.

“Thank you,” I say in a quiet voice.

“You know,” he says with another short laugh. “You’re probably going to think this is insane, and perhaps it is, but there are times that I feel like you might be the closest thing I’ll ever have to-“

“No,” I say immediately, sitting straight up in alarm. “Don’t say it, Hap.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, helpless.

“I want the truth.” 

“Well,” he sighs after a long moment. “Then I suppose I don’t have anything to say.” 

“You’re right,” I mumble. I look away and stare out the window. “You are insane.”

“I know you hate me,” he continues. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. But you also have to understand. The most important years of my life have been devoted to you. Watching you. Keeping you alive. Studying you.”

“Don’t confuse that with actual human relationships,” I retort. “If you want those, you have to do something more than lock people in a cage.”

“Perhaps I did lose sight of that over the years,” he says softly. “Staring too long at the sun.”

“Staring too long at her,” I correct him, my voice dropping to match his.

“I suppose I couldn’t hide these things from you, after all this time.”

I shake my head. “How many times have you sat back and watched her die?”

He shrugs. “I always knew I could bring her back.” He taps the wheel nervously. 

“You,” I say suddenly, staring at him. “You’re the reason why we couldn’t cross dimensions. You couldn’t leave her.”

His silence is his answer.

I finger the Bible in my pocket. “But you sent her away. You threw her out.”

“You forced me to,” he answers quickly.

I shake my head vehemently. “I didn’t force you to do anything. How could I? You’ve always been the one who controls everything-”

“I wanted her from the start,” he says, gripping the wheel with a furious intensity. “You didn’t. You only wanted her once you realized it was the only way you could win against me.”

“That’s not true,” I whisper. I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself to him or to convince him of anything, but I do. “It has nothing to do with you. It never did.”

“You don’t deserve her!” he snaps, then lowers his voice. “She deserves better than you.”

“Maybe,” I say sadly. “But she deserves better than you, too.”

His voice falls to barely a whisper. “I know.”

As twisted as it is, I think he’s telling the truth. Maybe he does love her. Maybe even almost as much as I do.

We’re the same like that. Both of us are in love with her. Both of us know that she’s better off without us. And yet here we both are, going straight back to her. Together.

“I know what you think about me,” I continue softly. “I know you think I don’t care about her as much as you think I should. I know you think I’ll betray her again. I won’t.”

He looks at me sharply. “What about that girl?”

I blink at him. “What girl?”

“The one that Jeremy set you up with. Back at the base.”

I snort. “Nicole?” I realize that I need to be careful what I say about her. I still have to protect her. “No. Nothing happened.”

“Jeremy was convinced that she would be good enough for you. We both saw the way you looked at her.”

“Yeah, well, you were wrong.”

“And you were wrong about me,” Hap snaps back. “You thought I hurt her. That I forced her. I didn’t.”

I shake my head with a shiver. “I know you didn’t. I told you, she told me everything.” _Everything._ Including the parts I’d have preferred not to know, the parts I told her she could share with me anyway, so that she didn’t have to keep it all locked up inside. She told me that she was only going to talk about these things once, to me, and then would never mention them ever again, to anyone. I still hold her secrets inside, even though they eat me up from the inside every time I look at him. And I know he’s right, he didn’t force her. But I also know how she really felt.

“Then you know that we had a connection. She cared about me.”

“She did,” I say carefully, trying to hide my shudder. “But… it wasn’t the way you think.” I’m not convinced that I should be saying this to the man holding me captive and trying to help me save the woman I love, but I can’t lie to him anymore, either.

“She could still love both of us,” he says, decisively. I blink at him. He’s still delusional.

“You had all the power,” I blurt out. “Can’t you understand that? She never had a choice! Of course she was going to do whatever you told her to do. And maybe she even pretended to like it sometimes, when she was thinking about something else. And maybe you’re right, maybe somewhere in another lifetime, where you didn’t do the things you’ve done, maybe in another world she could love you. But we’re here. And you took her life away. You took all our lives away. In this world, in our lifetime, there’s only one of us she could ever really love.”

Hap is quiet for a long, long time after that. I stare out the window. I wonder if I’ve said too much. I wonder if she’s still clinging to life, wherever she is. I wonder if she’ll wait for me. I wonder if she knows I’m coming. I wonder if she’s between worlds somewhere, searching for her father, searching for me. I wonder if she’s scared, or confused, or exhilarated. I wonder if I’ll get to see her again.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he says finally. “I’m tired of fighting with you all the time, Homer.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say to that.

“We want the same thing right now. Can’t we work together? Just this once?”

“Sure,” I say softly.

“’Sure’? That’s all you have to say?”

“I mean…” I shrug, feeling uncomfortable. My fingers twist around the fabric of my long lost sweater. “You know I have to do whatever you tell me. I always have. You want us to work together? We’ll work together. Fine.”

Hap stares ahead in silence for a long time. Finally, he steers the car over to the shoulder of the highway and slows down. He turns off the engine and removes the key. He opens the driver side door. “Follow me." 

Carefully, I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out of the car. I follow him to the edge of the trees. The sun is starting to dip down behind them towards the twilight. Below us, a river splashes and rushes alongside the highway.

“Okay,” Hap says, his voice decisive over the roar of the water.

“Okay what?”

Hap says something I don’t understand. I hear his words, they’re in English, I can hear him speaking, but it doesn’t make any sense. All I can hear is the rushing river below us and the sound of traffic behind us and the beating of my heart between us.

“What?” I ask him, shaking my head, trying to clear it, trying to understand. 

“You’re free, Homer,” he says again, sharper this time. “Choose.”

“What do you mean?” I manage to whisper, the words barely coming from my lips.

“You can come with me and we’ll work together, and we’ll try to find some way for us to trust each other, or I leave you now, and you and I never have to see each other again.”

I shake my head, not sure where to even start. “What about-?”

“Prairie?” he asks. “Go to her, don’t go to her. I don’t care.”

“The only thing I care about right now is saving her,” I whisper.

“That’s all I care about, too.”

“You’re going to her,” I continue, more boldly this time. “You’re going to try to save her.”

“Yes. But you don’t have to go with me.”

I swallow, hard. “That’s where I’m going, too.”

“That’s your decision, then.”

“We can help her better together than we can apart,” I say slowly. I can barely believe myself even as I say the words.

“Can we?” he asks.

“You’re asking my permission?”

He sighs, impatient. “I just told you. I’m setting you free right now. This moment. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Not anymore. I’ll save her by myself if I have to. But I know she needs both of us.”

“I’m free,” I whisper out loud, testing the words to see what they feel like. “So, if I walk away right now-?”

“I won’t follow you.”

“If I try to save her by myself-“

“I won’t stop you.”

I lick my lips. “And when she chooses me, instead of you?”

“I expect her to,” he says, and I can see the pain on his face as he admits it.

“And…?”

He sighs. “Then that’s her choice.”

“What about the others?”

Hap barks a laugh. “They’re Jeremy Stevenson’s problem now. Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“I’m free,” I say again, testing the words for a beautiful, glorious moment, before I steel myself to finish my answer. “And I’m choosing to go with you, Hap. I’m choosing to save her, with you.”

“All right then.”

Hap opens the passenger door for me. On a whim, because I feel like I need to, I yank my Pershing hoodie back on before climbing back into his car, willingly, by choice.

A free man.

He starts the engine again and pulls us back onto the highway. I don’t think either of us knows what to say now. I don’t know how to talk to Hap as a free man. I think he doesn’t know how to talk to me as a free man. We’re silent for a long time. I stare down at my chest. The wolf stares out ahead of us, equally silent and fierce. I remember what Renata said to me about finding my grace in forgiveness. I wonder if it’s possible that I could learn to forgive Hap for the things he’s done to us all. I wonder if I can start trying.

“Do you want to listen to some music?” he asks, out of the blue. 

I swallow. “No, thank you,” I whisper.

“No?” he asks, surprised.

“If it’s up to me,” I say slowly, “I want it off.”

“All right.” He’s silent for a few more seconds. “Really? You don’t like music?”

“I don’t like your music.”

“Hmmph.” He thinks this over for a minute. “You could pick something out.” He points at the cup holder. “Use my iPod.”

I pick it up. It’s not like the iPods I remember, with their slim designs and clickwheels, but the interface is similar to the iPad I used at Target to watch a video of a distress call I’m only now finally able to answer. It feels like forever ago.

“Look for the icon that says ‘Music’,” he offers, misunderstanding my hesitation.

I see it, and touch the button with the music notes on it. A list of songs pops up, and with my thumb, I scroll through the names of songs and bands I’ve never heard of, until I finally find the song I need to hear.

I select it and fumble for a moment before figuring out how to hit the “play” button, then I settle back in my seat, letting the iPod drift back to my lap.

“Hey, Jude,” Paul McCartney sings to me from Hap’s speakers, “don’t make it bad…”

“Never took you for a Beatles fan,” Hap says in surprise.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

I stare out the window. I remember lying on my cot deep under the earth, curled up in despair, Rachel singing softly to draw me out of my grief and remind me that my mission still wasn’t over.  It feels so long ago. My mission still isn’t over, even if I’m free. I have so much work to do. This is only the beginning.

_You were made to go out and get her…_

“So then what?” I ask abruptly. “We heal her, and then you just give her up again? You go back to the base?”

He erupts with a short, bitter laugh. “You think I can go back to the agency after what I just did?”

“You’re planning to take her somewhere else,” I suggest. “Another cage? What happens to your work now?”

He purses his lips. “Honestly,” he says. “I haven’t even gotten that far. The important thing is to make sure she survives. Here. In our world.”

“We can do that,” I say, decisively, settling back in the seat. I remember the last time I road shotgun with Hap, how terrified I was in the blinding white sky, his voice echoing through the headphones over the roar of the Cessna, knowing that I was under his control and being used only to suit his purposes. This time, I’m no one’s tool. This time, he’s taking me exactly where I want to go, and this time, we share a purpose. This time, I’m making my own choice.

_Na, na na, na na na na, na na na na, hey, Jude…_

I look out the window and the trees are calling to me again, whispering to remind me that there’s still a world out here, waiting for my return. I push a button to roll the window down enough so that I can feel the sunset wind on my face. It’s cold, it stings me, but it reminds me that I’m alive.  
  
I’m alone again now, but maybe not for long.

I’ll cooperate with Hap, at least for now, whatever I need to do, to make sure that the girl I love survives and comes back to our world. Then I’ll do whatever I have to do in order to secure my freedom and hers, together. That’s the thing I’ve wanted all along, the thing Jeremy and Eli couldn’t give me, no matter how much they tried.

Once I know we’re both safe, I can try to reach my father again. If I can get to him, I can trace Miguel’s phone from the phone call I made, and try to get more information about BEC, LLC. Or better yet, maybe I could reach Miguel himself. Maybe he and Nicole and even Betts would help us.  
  
Maybe we could convince them, she and I, to bring Renata and Scott and Rachel to a safe location, and then we can get the police, real police, people we can trust, to help us save them. We’ll cut a deal to protect Betts and Miguel and stupid, stupid Nicole, and maybe even Hap, and then the five of us, the angels, will all be reunited so that we can finally all be free. Then we can live the lives we were meant to lead, powerful and together. Me and Prairie, and Scott and Rachel, and Miguel and Renata.

Happily ever after.

_Na, na na, na na na na, na na na na, hey, Jude…_

It’s a long shot. I know it’s a long shot. Everything relies on luck and fortune right now, and fortune has never been kind to any of us, especially me.  
  
Then again, I’m here now. The car window is still rolled down, cold wind whipping my cheeks against a darkening sky, reminding me that I’m alive, staring out at the whispering trees as I lean back beside Hap, safe and free in my long lost Pershing sweatshirt, speeding on our way to her.

Who could have ever imagined I’d get to this point, from where I used to be? I should be dead by now, several times over, so many times over, but I’m here.

I’ve made it out of the basement lab, and I’ve made it out of the brig, and now I’ve made it all the way out of the agency’s compound. I’ve gotten this far, and it’s all because Eli was right about one thing. _I don’t give up_. Never. I can’t. I won’t. There have been so many times where everything felt utterly hopeless, so many times when it felt like I was finished, times where only a crazy person would have thought I had any hope of a happy ending.  
  
I guess I’m that crazy person. I can’t lose forever. I won’t accept that.  
   
And if I keep trying, if I keep feeding the wolf that’s buried deep inside me, the angry, passionate, relentless wolf that’s fueling me, that’s always been driving me, even in my darkest hours, maybe someday _we can finally win_.  
  
I have to believe that, because it’s the only way for me to survive.

And I’m going to survive.

No, _we’re_ going to survive. Together.

We’re stronger together. All five of us. My people. My tribe. We still have a prophecy to fulfill, and we _will_ do it. I _know_ we will. Somehow. We’ll find another way.

We always do.

_THE END._


End file.
